For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires
by Nikki-Vicious
Summary: She never had a problem completing her assignments. She didn't ever question her boss. She lived with every bit of her past and refused to let it effect her. But, one day, an assignment brings out part of her past that she can't ignore. At that point, she vowed Sherlock Holmes would be in for the ride of his life. Sherlock/OC. M for Language, Alcohol and Mild Sexual Content.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Welcome to chapter one of _For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires_! I have to hand a huge dedication to my good friend stanleydoodles. She's been beta-ing for me and helping me keep on track as I write. So, really, I wouldn't have gotten this far without her. This story is rated 'M' for future sexual content, mild language, and the occasional consumption of alcohol. Sounds like my Friday nights. I do not own Sherlock (the TV show), Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes or any other related charcters. All of the above belong to whomever has the rights at this moment and Arthur Conan Doyle. The only thing I own are my characters, which you can pick out like the white crayon in the box. I do ask for reviews as they help me see if I'm headed in the right direction. So throw me your comments, concerns and ideas! Now, read on my wayward son (or daughter. Whatever floats your boat.)...

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Mycroft Holmes closed the file in front of him with a barely audible sigh and moved to the next. Within the first few moments of looking over the contents of this particular folder, he grabbed the phone on his desk and dialed a number. He waited through the ringing on the line until a voicemail box picked up. He hung up the phone and grabbed his cell, dialing the number again. This time the person picked up on the third ring.

"I hope this is important, Mycroft. It's seven in the fucking morning." Mycroft couldn't help but smirk at the irritated American he had woken up.

"I've got an assignment for you." He could hear shuffling in the background followed by something being slammed shut.

"Gimme the details." _Paper and a pen, then, _he mused before reciting his directions.

For Sherlock Holmes, it was never too early for a murder investigation. For his flatmate, Doctor John Watson, and a majority of Scotland Yard, eleven in the morning on Saturday was entirely too early. Nearly every hand had a cup of coffee in it if its owner wasn't already in the process of gathering evidence. His favorite Detective Inspector was among the percentage with a cup in hand. Nobody spoke to him as he kneeled near the body. John was steps behind, his own coffee in hand. Lestrade offered him a nod for a greeting and set his eyes back on Sherlock. The consulting detective lifted the victim's head, the congealing blood sticking to the back. It took him only a moment to inspect and drop the head back down, causing the army doctor and DI to flinch. If Sherlock had noticed, he didn't allude to it as he ran his eyes over the man's thin frame and looked over the man's arms with interest.

"Well? What've you got?" Lestrade prompted the consulting detective after a moment of silence.

"It's not your jurisdiction." The DI blinked blankly at Sherlock and his response.

"What?" Sherlock sighed, willing himself to be patient, before turning to the body and beginning his explanation.

"His suit is expensive, freshly pressed. Tells us he has a high paying job, one that requires him to dress well, a government official. How do I know government? Dressed in all black, freshly shined shoes, silver watch and the identification in his pocket. He was killed by a single shot to the back of the head. Popular for enemies of the government, however this man has track marks on his arms from years of doing drugs. Recovered addict? Maybe, but probably not. A few of the marks are a few days old. So government worker, does drugs. But the government drug tests its workers on hire and every six months. That means working long enough to figure out the pattern and pass the tests. Still, why the single shot to the back of the head? I'd put my money on it being an inside job, this man most likely being a double agent for a king pin. Ergo, not your jurisdiction." Lestrade blinked. "And a waste of my time, as it seems." Sherlock moved to walk away but stopped very quickly. No one else would have seen the long blonde hair on the ground, but now he was willing to bet they'd find no bullet in the head. With a poker face and irritation growing in his belly, he left the scene.

Mycroft Holmes hung up his desk phone with what could be seen as a slam. There was a headache growing at his temples and there was no doubt in his mind that it would turn into a migraine by the end of the day. He was glad that the knock on his door was a light one and not one of those heavy handed buffoons he employed. Mycroft granted his visitor entry but as soon as he heard the heels click on the marble floor, he wished he had told her he was busy.

"Afternoon, boss." The American set a cup of tea down on his desk, careful to avoid all the papers, and a bottle of ibuprofen. He gestured to the chair in front of him, amused as she smoothed her pinstripe pants down before sitting. She wore a matching blazer, no doubt to cover one of her many weapons, and a light blue button up shirt. Several earrings were in each of her ears, something Mycroft knew he told her not to do many times. The woman's long blonde hair was up in a straight ponytail on her head, blue eyes clearly reading the documents on his desk upside-down. The offending heels she wore were at least five inches high and as thin as he'd ever seen heels made.

"Allessandra. Do you know what I've had the pleasure of spending most my afternoon doing?" His tone, to anyone else, was pleasant. This woman, however, knew the anger her boss was concealing very well.

"I'm sure you're about to tell me and it's somehow my fault."

"Well, yes, it's your fault. When we need someone dealt with, you're supposed to take care of the body. Not leave it in the middle of the city!" Allessandra smirked at Mycroft's almost loss of control. She hadn't seen him do that in a while.

"Don't wake me up at seven in the morning for a hit and you won't have to clean up after me all afternoon. Simple, really."

"He was on his way to take classified information to-"

"Mycroft, I'm sure you've learned by now that I don't care if he was taking tea to the queen. It was seven in the morning. I was on my last job til five of the very same morning. You're lucky I got the right guy and not some civilian."

"Not even you are that clumsy." Mycroft mumbled to himself as he picked up a fax and glanced it over. He held his hand out as Allessandra handed him a few ibuprofen. Without a word, Mycroft put the paper down and used the fresh cup of tea to ease the pills down his throat. He shuffled through the folders on his desk for a moment before pulling one out of the mess it had become. "Do me a favor, Allessandra, would you?" She sat up straighter in her seat and grabbed the folder.

"It's what I'm paid for, boss." Allessandra read the label on the side and instantly knew what the entire file contained.

"Deliver that to Sherlock. The agents watching his flat reported gunfire today. He shot a face into the wall because he was bored. That," Mycroft pointed to the file, "ought to keep him busy for a while." She nodded and collected herself, buttoning another button on her blazer.

"And if he refuses?" Mycroft sat back and tapped the pen he now had in hand on the desk.

"Give it to his flatmate, John Watson. If Sherlock won't take it from you, John will convince him. My brother would be a fool not to take this case." It was only when Allessandra was in a cab on her way to 221B Baker Street did she realize that this particular case was one of the few she had been instructed to see through to the end. For her, that meant cooperating with Scotland Yard and Sherlock Holmes.

_And, no, you cannot pass this case onto anyone else. –Mycroft Holmes_

Allessandra scowled at her phone. She hated the fact that Mycroft knew her so well and had the ability to make sure she did exactly as instructed when it came to her job.

_This isn't what I was hired to do, Mycroft. –A. Caswell_

_Yes, it is. You're just lucky you found other talents to amuse yourself with. –Mycroft Holmes_

She scowled once more, unhappy that she was reminded with her original purpose. When she had first taken the job with the British Government and Mycroft Holmes, she was sent out to solve the mysteries that were directly related to the government. As she worked, her talents with a gun and her connections got her noticed. Soon she was working more hits and illegal activities than unsolved cases.

_Dinner is still at 8. Don't miss it this time. –Mycroft Holmes_

_Yes mother. –A. Caswell_

The cab stopped, the man holding his hand out for his payment. She dropped a few bills into his hand, knowing that she paid him more than was needed. Allessandra insisted he keep the change and unfolded herself from the vehicle. With a deep breath and a poker face on, she knocked on the door. An older woman she knew to be Mrs. Hudson answered, giving her one of the most skeptical looks she'd ever received.

"Can I help you, dear?" Allessandra gave Mrs. Hudson her warmest smile.

"I'm hoping so. I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes. I'm here on behalf of his brother, Mycroft." She got another skeptical look for a moment before Mrs. Hudson opened the door for Allessandra completely.

"Right up the stairs, dear. I'd be wary if I were you. He's in a right mood when he's bored." Allessandra gave her another warm smile and a nod. She would know better than anyone just how Sherlock acted when his brain went into overdrive with nothing to do. Upon reaching the door labeled '221B', another gun shot went off.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock! What was that for?" A man yelled from the other side. Logic told her that was John Watson.

"I don't want the case; I don't want you in here." Sherlock's voice grumbled on the other side as well, but she knew this was directed at her. Without hesitation, Allessandra opened the door and walked in, hands on her hips.

"I don't care what you want, Sherlock Holmes. I'm here to do a job." He shot at her again. Her eyes narrowed. "Shoot at me again and you'll have to force me to explain to Mycroft why you're in the hospital."

"Excuse me, who is this?" A man a bit taller than Allessandra's height stood to the side, out of the line of fire. Sherlock looked from the woman to his flatmate and back to the woman.

"John, meet Allessandra Caswell, my brother's right hand and the bane of my existence."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Welcome back to all my returners and good day to all my first timers! This is _For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires_. I'd like to thank nhaquyen for my first review! I do hope you like the series. I've worked hard on it. I'd also like to send another thank you to stanleydoodles for helping me. Shes assisted me with all the other chapters I have written. I am going to warn everyone right now, though, that I'm going to update when I can. I work the next five days, three of which are long night shifts and two are long morning shifts. While I do have a few chapters written ahead of time, the chances of me being able to jump on the computer a post is slim. Like I said, I'll post as soon as life isn't kicking my ass. On with the tale...

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Allessandra's stare down with Sherlock lasted nearly five minutes. Neither of them were going to give in, not with how stubborn they both were. John continued to glance between the two, not entirely sure of what was going on or what he should do, if he should do anything. The air in the room seemed to drop a few degrees as Allessandra smirked at Sherlock, her eyes gaining a dangerous glint that Sherlock recognized too well.

"I've read your blog, Dr. Watson. It's very interesting." Her voice was soft and smooth, like velvet and dangerousness all at the same time.

"Well, thank you, Miss-" John stopped talking as the woman shot him a thousand-watt smile.

"Please, Dr. Watson, call me Allessandra." He shifted almost nervously.

"Right, well, Allessandra, I'm glad to know you enjoy the blog. Sherlock hates every bit of it."

"I do believe Sherlock would. He hates everything that points him out to be just as amateur as those he surrounds himself with."

"There is nothing amateur about me, Allessandra, you of all people should know that." Sherlock got up from his seat as he spoke, going to the window leisurely. "An 'amateur', as you so boldly call me, wouldn't have figured out a government official's death in the middle of the city today. An 'amateur' also wouldn't have noticed the long, blonde hair near the body and the absence of a bullet in the victim's skull."

"What?" Allessandra's smirk grew more as the good doctor's glances turned to frantic looks for more information from either her or the consulting detective.

"You expect me to be impressed?" Allessandra scoffed. "I left the hair for you, Sherlock. Just as I left the body for your brother to clean up. It's a lesson – more for Mycroft than for you, but a lesson nonetheless. If you want to impress me, solve this in twenty-four hours." Allessandra dropped the file folder onto the table, her challenge strong and irresistible in the air.

"Are you telling me that you killed that man today?" Allessandra indulged John in another thousand-watt smile as he asked his question. It clearly implied her answer. Amusement flitted through her body as he turned a bit pale and sat in a stray chair near him. She hadn't even noticed Sherlock move until he was already flipping through the file of papers.

"I'll have it done in twelve."

"That's more like it." Allessandra stood and gave her phone a brief glance. "Now, if you'll both excuse me, I've got to get back to the office. I'm probably being missed by now. Mycroft has me busier than the devil what with the Korean elections just around the corner." She grinned indulgently, as if she were talking to two children. "He does like to be in control of things. Not that it's any of either of yours business. I'll be looking forward to your findings, Sherlock dearest. Dr. Watson, it's been a real pleasure." She shook his hand and made a swift exit. A dark car was waiting for her at the curb, a gentleman holding one of the back doors open for her. He was tall and in an all black suit, sunglasses covering his eyes. "Good day, Arthur." The man nodded to her.

"Good morning, Miss Caswell. I've been asked b y Mr. Holmes the elder to bring you back to your office."

"Mr. Holmes the elder? I suppose it is appropriate." With one final grin, Allessandra waved to Sherlock and John in the window and slid into the car with ease. "I believe we can fit a stint at the office into the day's plans. We'll push the GYM time back some." Arthur, her driver-slash-personal-assistant-slash-security-detail, shut the door to the car. She retrieved her phone once more as the car merged into traffic.

_I bet you a week of taking care of Artemis that he'll have this case solved in six hours or less. –A. Caswell_

_I refuse to take care of that beast you call a pet whether Sherlock has the case solved in the next ten minutes or the next twenty-four hours. –Mycroft Holmes_

She grinned to herself. Since Allessandra got her beloved companion almost a year ago, she'd been trying to get Mycroft to warm up to the creature. Artemis, a year old Rottweiler puppy, was government trained from the time she could take her own little doggy steps. She just got excited sometimes; namely when she saw Mycroft. Allessandra grinned more at the memory. The last time the dog had seen Mycroft, he lost his favorite umbrella. And, boy, did Allessandra's boss know how to hold a grudge.

"We've arrived, ma'am." Allessandra tucked her phone away in the pocket of her blazer, accepting Arthur's hand as he helped her slide out of the car. "Your Bluetooth, Miss Caswell." She accepted the earpiece and put it into place. "Mr. Holmes has sent over a few more files for your review. He's also got a case he'd like you to start in the morning." Allessandra rolled her eyes. Why couldn't Mycroft just tell her himself? Arthur opened the doors in front of her as they moved through hallways at a brisk pace. "And, apparently, the queen has been in contact." I stopped in my tracks and looked at Arthur.

"What this time?" He gave me a crooked smile.

"She wanted to make sure you enjoyed your last trip and to let you know she's very pleased with the new members of her security detail." Allessandra nodded with a wide grin. How many people could say they got a call from the queen herself to see how they liked their last trip cross country to kill a national traitor and compliment the men they handpicked for said queen's personal guard? Highlight of her week.

Just three short hours later, Allessandra had finished the paperwork she needed to get done and successfully ignored the new case Mycroft wanted her on. If she was completely honest with herself, Allessandra would admit she was doing anything she could to avoid the new case. She really just wanted a day off. She pressed a button on her desk phone, the line opening up to Arthur at his desk on the other side of her door.

"How may I be of assistance, Miss Caswell?"

"Please, for the love of God, Arthur, tell me I can go for the day."

"I've been instructed by Mr. Holmes to make sure you've read the new case file before you leave tonight. I've also been asked to remind you that your dinner meeting with Mr. Holmes is at your house tonight at eight." Allessandra bit her lip and thought about it for a minute.

"If I told you I read the file, would you believe me?"

"Probably not, Miss Caswell." She smirked at the phone and her personal assistance's response.

"Fine. Have it your way. I'll study the file. I'm leaving in a half hour no matter what." Allessandra hung up the phone and pulled the file in front of her begrudgingly. The tan material taunted her. Resigning herself to her fate, she opened the file and started reading the numerous papers. It didn't take Allessandra long; she already knew all the information. On the last page, a note written in Mycroft Holmes's elegant script taunted her.

_Allessandra, I need you to keep an eye on dear baby brother for a few days._

She was silent for a moment as she reread the note. Then she snapped. Without a second thought, Allessandra threw the file in the air with a loud scream, the papers fluttering to the floor all around her. She grabbed the few belongings she brought with her to her office this morning and stormed out, locking the door behind her.

"Have a good evening, Miss Caswell. And good luck on your next case." Arthur spoke to her as if he hadn't just heard his boss's fit. She grunted back and took the keys to the sleek black car she called her own off the desk as she passed by it.

Mycroft had made himself comfortable in Allessandra's study by the time he heard her enter through the garage door. He could hear her angry footsteps as she moved around the lower level of the townhouse, looking for him. The door to the kitchen noisily swung open before the footsteps continued, not as angry. He picked up his glass of scotch and took a contemplative sip. He could hear her making her way up the stairs now. Allessandra's bedroom door opened, closed and then opened again. The smell of food made its way into the study now. Mycroft looked up at Allessandra with a soft smile. She placed the plate of grilled salmon and steamed vegetables in front of him, laying the silverware next to the plate. Her face showed him no expression as she sat down opposite him at the small round wood table with her own plate in front of her. Mycroft slid a glass of ice across to her along with a half full bottle of whiskey. Allessandra poured herself a generous glass and took a long swing, filling it back up after she did so.

"I take it you're not happy with me." Mycroft's voice was soft. He picked up his silverware and cut a piece of salmon off, giving Allessandra a look. She picked up her own silverware and began eating as well.

"Not particularly, no." Her response was just as soft as his statement.

"But you understand why I need you to do this."

"Yes." She took a sip of her whiskey.

"It's temporary. Once he gets the West case solved you'll go back to doing your normal work." Allessandra paused in her eating at Mycroft's words.

"So he's not going to get the case solved in twelve hours?" Mycroft gave her another smile.

"It's been almost five hours since you gave him the case file and he still hasn't truly looked at it. My guess is he's giving Dr. Watson this one as a test of sorts."

"Why would he? Why does it matter?" Mycroft shrugged at the questions and pushed the plate away, only a few of the steamed vegetables left on it. He took his scotch in hand and swirled the glass before taking a drink.

"Why does Sherlock do anything? All we know is what is in that file. And, apparently, he's in more trouble now than ever before." Mycroft's grey-blue eyes met Allessandra's icy blue ones. "I need you to help me protect my baby brother, Alice. I don't trust anyone else with his life." Mycroft watched as she drained the glass of whiskey.

"I'll do it, 'Croft. I'll help you protect him." He covered her hand on the table with his and gave it a squeeze.

"Thank you." His eyes were soft on hers. She looked away with a small scowl.

"Just give me my dog back, you heartless creature." Mycroft's mouth formed an amused smirk as he gave her a nod.

"Anything for you, dear."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Greetings all! Welcome to the next installment of _For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires_. Saddly, I had to reviews on the last chapter. I'm hoping a few of you will do so this time around and let me know how Im doing. (So, really please, please, please review. I want to know if this is up to par.) Enjoy!

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Allessandra rolled over in her bed the next morning, a headache threatening to turn her brain into jell-o. Artemis lay at the foot of the oversized bed. Allessandra grinned to herself. The poor puppy was still tired from the long run Mycroft's assistant had taken her on while dinner was being had. She knew the cure to her headache was just downstairs; exercise and a few glasses of water. She'd sweat the whiskey out of her system and get started on the next job Mycroft had assigned her. Allessandra rolled her eyes at her thoughts, covering her head with the blanket. Sherlock babysitting - well, Sherlock protecting, really. Glancing at the clock, she couldn't help but smirk. She was supposed to be up an hour ago to prepare for this mission. Lying to Sherlock was nearly impossible and that's exactly what she had to do. It'd be like trying to lie to Mycroft but harder. Mycroft trusted her word because of their past together. Sherlock, though, couldn't be more skeptical. Not going down that road, not now, not today.

"Up, Art. We're running." The dog made a noise that sounded weirdly like a scoff. "Don't you dare talk back, missy. I gotta sweat this alcohol out. You let them in the house so it's your fault." The dog opened one eye at her as if to say 'really?' "Bite them next time and this won't happen." Allessandra couldn't help but grin this time, the dog getting up and slowly moving. She got up as well, pulling a pair of sweatpants and a shirt over her previously almost naked body. Artemis sat patiently as Allessandra hooked her leash to her collar. With a click of her tongue, Allessandra signaled the start of their ten mile run.

Just a short hour and a half later, dog and owner entered their dwelling, the dog exhausted and the owner ready for a shower. The hot water felt exquisite on her overworked and sleep deprived muscles. It was just moment later that she found herself going through her walk-in closet. She pulled out an old suitcase and dropped her towel. She promptly dressed herself in black jean pants and a white long sleeved top. Artemis whined at her owner, effectively gaining Allessandra's attention. "No, you won't be going. Arthur will be taking care of you, love. If you scare 'Croft, I can't imagine what you'd do to Sherlock." Allessandra turned to the mirror, amused. "He'd probably piss himself. That is a theory to test one day." She gave the mental image one last indulgent look before packing for her next adventure.

Allessandra watched from a dark alley across the street as Sherlock left 221B. As if he knew, he looked around the street, eyes staying just a second longer on the alley. She bit her lip and froze, not that she was moving at all in the first place. It took another few seconds but Sherlock folded himself into his taxi, onto whatever case he was solving now. With a cautious left-right-left, Allessandra dashed in between a few cars and knocked frantically on the door to 221B.

"I'm coming! I'm coming! Just a moment!" Mrs. Hudson's voice rang out as she hurried to the door. Allessandra looked over her shoulder and pounded on the door. As soon as the elder woman opened the door, the younger pushed her way in.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson. I didn't have anywhere else to go. I need a safe place to stay. I need to talk to John. I'm in trouble. Please, please help me." Her voice was weak, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. Mrs. Hudson had turned a bit pale and shut the door quickly.

"Up the stairs, dear, up the stairs. Of course you can stay here! John! That woman from yesterday is here; the one that works for Mycroft! She says she needs help! Go on, dear. I'll make you a nice cuppa. John!" Allessandra gave herself a mental pat on the back. _So far, so good._ She took shaky steps up the stairs, making her leg give out on the last step, the good doctor catching her.

"Uh, Allessandra, wasn't it?" He spoke up.

"Yes, yes it was. Is." She shook her head quickly, her eyes looking scared and haunted. "I have to hide. You have to help me, Doctor; I need you to help me. I need you to hide me. No one can know I'm here. Please, they're trying to kill me." Her voice cracked a bit at the end. She was willing to bet that was the part that caused John Watson to bring her into the flat and set her in a chair. He dropped the curtains on the windows.

"Why are you here?" John watched the woman shake and bite her nails, eyes focused on the windows and darting to the door.

"Help. I need you to help me, Dr. Watson."

"You said someone was trying to kill you. Who?" Allessandra watched as he curled his hand and tapped the fist against the arm of the chair he was sitting in. He'd seen the same nervous, skittish, paranoid actions in case studies from his days at university. He was dead sure, though, that none of this had come from drug abuse as had been the case in the studies.

"The kingpin from the man yesterday; the man's boss. He's after me; the entire gang is out for my head."

"Okay. But why here, why Baker Street? It's not exactly the safest place to be."

"I couldn't think of anywhere else to go. I don't know anyone else to go to."

"What about Mycroft? He's your boss, isn't he? Why would t he set up a safe house for you or keep you at his flat?" As John was talking, Allessandra started shaking her head.

"They'd expect that. If Mycroft kept me, they'd know. He'd have to leave me at some point and I'd be dead. I can't die! I don't want to die, John. There's so much I haven't done; so much I haven't accomplished! Please, let me stay! Let me live!" Her voice cracked again, the tears appearing once more.

"Alless-" John stopped his sentence as she got up and stood next to him, grabbing his hand, tears finally flowing down her face.

"Please, John, please." John let out a sigh, his entire body slouching as he gave in.

"Just for a day or two."

"Thank you so, so much." She gave him a smile that warmed his heart. She looked like a child that had just been given her favorite toy.

"I have one condition. You've obviously know Sherlock and Mycroft for a long time. I want to know how you know them and why Sherlock doesn't like you anymore." Allessandra bit her lip in thought. _What could it hurt?_ She nodded at John, who smiled back at her. "Now, if you'll excuse me, it'd be best if I caught up with Sherlock by now. He's probably been talking to himself for a while…or waiting for me to hand him a pen."

Sherlock opened the door to 221B Baker Street. His mind was racing with thoughts of the case he was on. He swung the door to the living room open with unnecessary flair, dropping his coat and scarf on their designated hooks. His feet took him immediately to the kitchen-slash-lab he had created. He stopped as quickly as he started. Sitting in his seat was the one person he didn't want to see. Ever.

"Get out of my flat." Sherlock watched the smirk slide across her face as she looked up from the microscope.

"Now, Sherlock, that's no way to treat a guest." Mrs. Hudson's voice was heard a few moments before she was seen. She placed a cup of tea on the table for Allessandra.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." Allessandra sipped at the tea, a groan of satisfaction escaping her throat. Sherlock's gut gave him a jolt that ran south - and confused him. That was something that had never happened before. "Sher, I do love that purple shirt on you. Makes you look absolutely edible." Alessandra's eyes looked him over from top to bottom. The action sent another jolt through Sherlock, a trail of warmth being left behind. He ground his teeth together and locked away whatever reaction he was having in a room hidden in the back of his mind palace. That was something to figure out when he had more time. He sealed it all up with a final blink of his eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

"Mrs. Hudson, would you excuse us?" Allessandra's eyes didn't leave Sherlock's as Mrs. Hudson talked to herself, collecting a few bits of trash and leaving.

"I won't ask you again, Allessandra." The smile on her face turned bittersweet.

"We used to get along so well, Sher. Now you can't stand the mention of my name. What happened to us?" Allessandra watched Sherlock sigh, his eyes moving to a spot on the wall. "I'm here because Dr. Watson was kind enough to give me refuge from a murderous kingpin."

"I don't believe its coincidence that we live in the same flat. You have a reason for being here. You could be any place in all of Britain and yet you've chosen 221B. Not the safest place, unless you have a motive for being here. Whether it's something you're doing yourself or an order you're following from my dear big brother is still to be figured out. Allessandra, you've faced much worse than a murderous kingpin on much worse grounds. Do not lie to me." Sherlock's voice turned low, harsh and dangerous. It was a tone she hadn't heard in as long as she knew him. It sent her to a dark place within seconds, a nearly visible shake starting in her hands. Memories nearly flooded her brain. Using all her willpower, she pushed it all back. She hasn't succumbed to a panic attack in years and she wouldn't now. Not in front of Sherlock Holmes. Never again.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Good day all! This is chapter four of _For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires_; welcome to it! I just finished a thirteen hour shift at work. It was crazy insane. And I have to work first thing in the morning. Needless to say, I wasn't going to post this at first 'cause I'm so tired but I figured you all would appreciate it. I'd like to thank TaylorRiley17, stanleydoodles, and Gwilwillith for their reviews on the last chapter! I love, love, love it when I hear back from my readers. And I'd love, love, love it if I heard some more! Don't be shy. Please review and enjoy!

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"Hello, Allessandra." John's greeting made the government official look up from the case file she was glancing through.

"Good evening, Dr. Watson. How was everything at the surgery center?" She rested her head in her hand, watching the doctor search through the kitchen for something to eat.

"Fine. Overall, it was fine. Sarah needed someone to fill in for a few hours. Nothing extravagant or exciting. Did you and Sherlock happen to get anything for supper?" Allessandra shook her head even though John wasn't looking.

"I was just about to order some takeaway. Chinese?" Both people looked to Sherlock as he stood in his bedroom doorway, hands in his pockets.

"Chinese? You only ever eat Chinese." Allessandra stared at Sherlock in relative disbelief.

"No, I don't."

"Sherlock, if it weren't for Chinese food, you wouldn't have eaten as a child. I swear to God. Mycroft and I spent all our spare money on it for you. I'm seriously surprised you aren't the size of a house. How about something new tonight? Have either of you ever had Mexican food?" Allessandra popped up from her spot on the couch with a grin and a bit of enthusiasm. Both men watched her with a confused look. "No? That's even better. A break from the ordinary is just what you need."

"Sherlock, we do eat a lot of Chinese. I wouldn't mind to try something new." John spoke up, causing Allessandra to give him her thousand-watt smile. Sherlock rocked on his feet for a moment. Her smile had scattered his thoughts for a moment. He clenched his fists in his pockets, not understanding his reactions to Allessandra. The frustration he was feeling threw him for even more of a loop.

"No." Sherlock's response was short and curt. Allessandra turned the smile on him.

A little over an hour later all three adults were grouped around the coffee table in the living room. On it sat several white containers full of Mexican food. Allessandra rubbed her hands together and opened the containers, dishing herself out a plate.

"Dig in, guys. It's the best Mexican food you can find in Britain." Hesitantly, John listened to her direction and grabbed a plate, giving himself a bit of rice, part of an enchilada and a bit of the stuffed tamales. Sherlock continued to stare at the food, a frown on his face. Allessandra grabbed a chip out of the nachos and popped it in her mouth, groaning. The sound forced Sherlock to resist rubbing his arms where goose bumps had formed. His frown deepened, confused at his body's reaction to Allessandra's groan. "I swear to God, the food gets better than this. There's this little shop on the south side of Puebla in Mexico; has the best food I've eaten in my life."

"So your job takes you across the world?" Allessandra raised her eyebrows at John's question and put down her fork.

"Yes, occasionally I am required to do a bit of traveling." She reached out for a container of tacos at the same time that Sherlock went to push the container away from him more. Their hands touched briefly but the shock that was sent through both people was something that couldn't be ignored. She was stunned. What was that? There was no way that was what she thought it was. Attraction? Allessandra held back her scoff. Not possible. She couldn't be attracted to Sherlock. Not for a second time in this life. She kept her eyes on the food as she dished more food out for herself, clearing her throat. "On a case still, then? That's another habit that certainly hasn't changed since you were little." She was thankful for the opportunity to change the subject.

"Yes, in a manner of speaking, I am still on a case." Sherlock replied to her.

"Well, what's wrong? Have you finally found one you can't handle, Sherlock?" Allessandra shifted in her spot on the floor, eating a bit more off her plate, amused with herself.

"No. I'm quite capable of solving my cases, thank you. I'm waiting for the next hint. There were five pips and only four cases, unless..." Sherlock's eyes locked on Allessandra. She swallowed the food in her mouth and resisted the urge to look away.

"You think the West case is related?"

"Any criminal mastermind who had a bit of insight would be looking for the Bruce-Partington plans. It's the biggest thing MI-6 is working on." She shrugged back.

"Not the biggest thing, but the only thing that's been leaked to the public. It wouldn't be that much of a shock, really. The common factor in all these cases so far has been the name 'Moriarty', hasn't it?"

"How do you know all this?" John put his mostly empty plate down on the table, leaning with his elbows on his knees as he looked at her. The doctor looked every bit the army captain he had once been in that moment. It made Allessandra smirk.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you." She paused for a minute, deciding exactly how much to tell the two. "We've been following this person's trail for a little while. This 'Moriarty' figure is behind a few of my more difficult cases and has been more than a little pain in the government's ass. We received a note, anonymously, just a week or so ago. It said, 'Things are about to get very interesting. Bye, bye boredom. -M.' We assumed it was from the same person that had been responsible for," she paused knowing she wasn't able to finish the rest of her sentence with examples like she wanted too, "well, like I said, he's been behind a few of the more difficult cases. Security cameras malfunctioned at that point in and around the building the note was left at."

"You've been following Sherlock, then."

"Nothing so interesting, Dr. Watson. Though I certainly wouldn't mind following him around for a while." Allessandra grinned at Sherlock in a way that made him furrow his eyebrows in confusion. John shifted in his seat and motioned for Allessandra to continue. She took another bite of food and continued with the work related thoughts she was having. "Anything or anyone that mentions 'Moriarty' in a file or on a computer anywhere in the world is forwarded directly to my office."

"You have an office?" John sounded surprised. Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Of course she's got an office. She works for my brother. Anyone remotely important that works for him has an office."

"What else have you got?" Allessandra tapped the side of her nose in return to John's question.

"She got an assistant. I'm willing to bet she still has a few well-trained teams under her belt, for various reasons of course. And what is that motto you follow when my brother sends you out on assassinations?" She watched John shift around in his seat, her grin bordering on evil as Sherlock revealed much more about her occupation.

"Neca eos omnes, deus suos agnoscet."

"Ah, yes. Kill them all, God will know his own. Almost fitting for a destroyer of entire organizations."

"Well, this certainly has been an interesting dinner." John moved to get up. Allessandra shot him one of her worse looks.

"Sit down, Dr. Watson." He obeyed. "I may be a lot of things, but always remember that I am human. My job requires me to do things not always on the good side of the law or the upside of morality. What I do for a living is no different than what you did while in Afghanistan. I just do my work in a fashion in which no one knows the truth, except the people I take my orders from. Do we have an understanding?" He nodded. Allessandra could almost see Sherlock smirking. "Fantastic. Now, put your plate in the dishwasher and go to bed. If that last pip is reserved for the West case, you'll have to finish it tomorrow."

"Right, you're right." John nodded a few times and got up with his plate in hand. "Can you all handle putting the rest away?" Allessandra nodded.

"I already moved the head in the fridge so we'd have some space." She followed John's lead, picking up her plate and one of the containers of food.

"You moved my head?"

"I can move a lot more than just your head, Sherlock. You just have to give me the chance." Allessandra put the food away, watching John turn beat red. Sherlock turned a bit red himself, unable to look in Allessandra's direction.

"Right, well, uhm…" John rubbed the back of his head. "Right. Where will you be sleeping tonight, Allessandra?"

"On the couch, I suppose." John nodded. "Unless you're willing to share your bed, Dr. Watson." Allessandra grinned at the beet red doctor. Sherlock had a mix of anger and sickness in his lower stomach. What was that? Wait, that one he knew. Jealousy. Why was he feeling jealousy? Why did he care what Allessandra did or didn't do with John? He didn't care. So, why was he feeling at all? And how did he make the feelings stop? He shook his head to clear the thoughts floating around, her voice nearly echoing in his ears every time she spoke. "No? That's fine. The couch will do for me."

"Right. Okay. Sleep well, then." She nodded back to the embarrassed doctor and turned to face Sherlock with a grin but he was already gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Good evening, my lovlies! You've stumbled upon the next chapter of _For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires_. Before we get started I want to say thank you to Guest, Gwilwillith and the-wordy-lass for their reviews! I'm glad to hear you all are enojying the tale Im telling and that it hasn't been cliche. Thats what I like to hear! I'm currently very busy with work, so updates may become a little spacey. Not to much, rest assured. They're just going to be a few more days apart rather than everyday or every other day. I am doing my best to write and then get the chapters betaed but Im seriously getting my ass kicked at work. Over 42 hours in six days. I have today off and then Im back to work for god knows how long. On the upside, if you want to know more about my life, you can follow me on Twitter at Nicole_Vicious. I do hope that shows. That'll give you more insight into how the writing is coming and when more chapters will be released, among other happenings in my life. Well, onto the next segment. And please remember to review! :)

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Hands ran over her body, long skilled fingers caressing her sensitive flesh. Lips brushed across her naval. Her wrists pulled on their restraints, the metal of the handcuffs biting into her skin. The mop of dark, curly hair descended further. Icy gray-blue eyes glanced up at her, the high cheek boned face giving her a breath taking smirk. She couldn't help but whimper and pull at the handcuffs again. The smirk widened and with a shake of his head, he reached his destination.

Allessandra jolted awake from her spot on the sofa. The blankets were tangled around her feet, sweat nearly dripping from her brow. She dropped her head in her hands. She hasn't had dreams like that since she was a teenager. She needed a run. She punched the cushion below her. Couldn't do that though, she was in the middle of playing damsel-in-distress, making it impossible to leave. Allessandra wanted to scream, say fuck it, and go for a run. She let out a growl, grabbing a set of yoga pants and three-fourth sleeved shirt. Once changed, she couldn't help but sneak a peek at Sherlock. He was diagonal across the bed, just as he had been in his youth. Allessandra smirked to herself. There was nothing she wanted to do more in that moment than to crawl into bed with that man and…she sighed, cursing her current situation. She'd get this energy out one way or another.

Sherlock looked up into ocean blue eyes. For once in a long time, his mind was clear. It wasn't racing. That hasn't happened since...well, it's best not to ruin the mood, he let his mind wander on a short leash. Her long blonde hair brushed against his chest as she leaned down closer to him. There was that feeling in his gut again. What was that? She moved herself back just a bit, hovering over him. He knew what was going to happen next; it did every time. Bliss shot through him.

Sherlock's first waking thoughts were something along the lines of 'what the hell was that' and 'where did that come from'. As a teenager he'd accepted that sexual dreams were a part of puberty. He learned to control himself and his body. As an adult, he locked it all away in his mind palace. This didn't happen to him. It was her fault. Allessandra; her very presence was causing problems within him. Sherlock grit his teeth. He refused to go down that road again. As he looked at his doorway, he was suddenly very glad that he was lying on his stomach, no matter how painful it truly was. Allessandra had her hands gripping tightly onto the top lip of the doorframe, her legs crossed as she rhythmically pulled herself up, dropped down little and pulled herself up again. She was sweating enough for it to run down her face and neck, under her shirt. Sherlock couldn't figure out why his eyes were transfixed on the particular beads of perspiration that were doing just that.

"Good morning, Sherlock." Her voice was deeper and breathy. It sent him back into his dream for a moment, the same tone saying his name for a much different reason. No! Focus.

"Allessandra." He greeted curtly. No matter his betraying body's responses to her, his mind was still not happy she was here. She was up to something; her and Mycroft as always. He just couldn't figure out what it was they were up to.

"Are you going to stay in bed all day? John has already left to inspect the tracks Andrew West died on." She unfolded her legs and dropped onto her feet. The thought of the unfinished case was helping his below the belt problem. He grunted back. He'd figured out most of the case within the few hours he told her it would take. It was just amusing to watch the two government officials wait for the information. "Well then. I'm going to go take a quick shower in John's bathroom. That is an invitation." She gave him one of those smirks. He grunted again and watched her leave. "Take a picture, Sherlock. It'll last longer." He closed his eyes and signed as soon as she was out of hearing range. Sherlock decided then that he needed to get out of the house. He'd meet up with his flat mate at Battersea and solve the last bit of the West case. After a cold shower and a bit of mental scolding, that is.

Allessandra sat alone in Sherlock and Watson's flat. Sherlock had managed to slip out while she'd been in the shower. She knew what was happening to herself. She thought she'd gotten rid of her feelings for the younger Holmes so many years ago. But, now, she couldn't help it. It wasn't a goal to just get a rise out of him anymore; oh, no. She wanted every comment she made to hit him right in the groin. There was a time when it did. She swore she wouldn't do this again, though. Her eyes weren't focusing on the hacked CCTV feeds in front of her anymore. She was lost in her thoughts. These feelings weren't something she could pursue for a number of reasons. Allessandra pursed her lips in irritation. It was all Mycroft's fault, making her take this mission. They could have upped Sherlock's security level. They could have had security detail put on him. Hell, Allessandra was sure Mycroft could have even locked Sherlock up at Scotland Yard if he was that worried. She grabbed her phone and sent the elder Holmes a text.

_I know what you're doing. And it's working. Stay out of my relationships with people - especially your brother. -A. Caswell_

She closed down the frames full of the CCTV feed and put John's laptop back on the desk where she found it.

_I don't know what you're talking about. -Mycroft Holmes_

Allessandra scoffed and tossed the phone onto the sofa. What a liar. Though, that was what her boss was best at. She grabbed Sherlock's violin. It'd been years since she played. Sherlock swore by the thing, said it helped him think when he played. She brought the instrument up to her shoulder, took a breath and drew the bow across the strings. It was as if she never stopped playing. An elaborate piece flowed into the air. She'd never admit it but Sherlock was right. It did help a person think.

He knew that sound. Someone was playing his violin. Beautifully. While it irritated him that there was only one possible person playing said instrument, the music quelled his anger. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he having these dreams again? Why couldn't he hate her as he did only the day before? The faintest scent of her spiked his adrenaline. The last time this happened - no. That was the past. He'd never relive any part of his past. The past repeated itself and he would prevent it if he could. John was a step ahead of him, already in the flat.

"Allessandra, I didn't know you could play!" The doctor's voice held a bit of shock. Sherlock was willing to bet she was giving him one of those smiles. She was. Sherlock had a very strong jealous feeling roll through him.

"I haven't played in years. I couldn't help myself when I saw it. I hope you don't mind, Sherlock. I mean, it certainly isn't the first time I've played with your things." She directed the smile at him. The jealous feeling was replaced with the one from last night; the burning one. He needed sleep. After his meeting with Moriarty, he'd sleep this nightmare away. He hung up his coat and scarf, fishing a memory stick from one of his pockets.

"The Bruce-Partington plans. I'm sure that'll get Mycroft to let you go home." He held the memory stick out to her. Their eyes connected, neither willing to look away. Allessandra dropped the violin from her shoulder and tapped the bow against her leg.

"Sherlock!" John scolded him. "She's here because someone is trying to kill her, not because of some security detail Mycroft put her on!" He paused and looked at Allessandra. "Is it?" She gave Dr. Watson a soft smile.

"I'm always in danger, Dr. Watson. My days wouldn't be normal if someone wasn't trying to kill me. As soon as I get approval from my superiors, I will be out of your hair. "

"Try to make it sooner rather than later, won't you?" Sherlock snapped, putting a frown on Allessandra's face. With one final look to Allessandra, Sherlock shut himself in his room. John 'tsked', looking at the woman in front of him.

"Well, lie or not, we had a deal." Allessandra gave John another grin.

"Just tell me where to begin, Dr. Watson."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Hello, Sherlockians! Chapter six of _For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires_ is about to commence. You just have to get through this author's note. I have to say, this is one of my favorite chapters. Chapter five is my favorite so far. Im sure that'll change in time. But for now, that's my favorite. Id like to thank Gwilwillith for her review on the last chapter! Ive decided that Im going to update once a week. Its easier for me to get updates written and checked and out that way. It really does just fit better in my obnoxiously hectic schedule. They'll most likely be out on Fridays. In the mean time, leave wonderful, amazing reviews that will help motivate me to write more! Do enjoy...

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With a cup of tea in hand, Allessandra sat across from John in a chair. She had a trained smile on her face, ready to withhold information at any point. John was a bit twitchy in his own seat, rubbing the hand that wasn't holding his tea on his jeans. His face looked a bit nervous.

"Don't be worried, Dr. Watson. Ask whatever questions you'd like." She spoke to him softly and sipped on her tea. John put his cup of tea on the table and strung his fingers together. He brought them up to his mouth as he thought.

"You're American."

"Yes, I am, John. That's also not a question." John pursed his lips at Allessandra's smart-aleck response.

"What I meant was, how did an American end up in Britain? And working for the government?" John made sure he was specific as he asked.

"My family would come over for summer and winter break. We had a vacation house a bit more north of here. The government picked me up after I did a turn at the Yard for vandalism."

"I'm guessing you met Sherlock and Mycroft during your vacations here?" Allessandra didn't answer John's question. Instead, she opted for a drink of her tea. "Not going to answer that one? Alright, I suppose. I can't force you to answer me." Allessandra let John have a smile. "Then tell me how it is you came to be an assassin if the government picked you up for vandalism?"

"That is a mystery, isn't it?" Allessandra answered him, picking up her vibrating phone. John stared at her in shock. "Caswell." She answered, giving John another smile.

"You've gotten the Bruce-Partington plans back?" Mycroft was on the other end using his business tone of voice.

"Yes sir. They've been in my pocket for about a half hour now." She put her cup of tea down on the table.

"Good. I'm assembling the Alpha Team. I'll brief you when everyone is here." Mycroft hung up without another word. Allessandra slipped the phone into the pocket of the black suit jacket she had put on earlier.

"I suppose that was Mycroft with more work for you?" John's tone as he spoke was clearly unhappy and unamused.

"I may be sitting still, Dr. Watson, but the criminals in this world are ever on the move." She gave him a tight smile. "I do, however, have a few minutes before I have to leave. Anymore questions?" She watched John for a second, his Adam's apple moving as he swallowed a bit. He thought about it and smiled to himself.

"What university did you graduate from?" John's question made Allessandra break into the most genuine smile she'd given in a very long while.

"I didn't go to a university. I've attended a few classes and a few lectures here or there but I've never gotten a degree. I've never gotten one or needed one. You certainly can't get a doctorate in shooting a gun or a bachelor's degree in stealth operations." She glanced at the clock on her phone and stood. "Do you want to know something about me that not even Sherlock and Mycroft know?" She couldn't resist the temptation. John gave a hesitant nod. Allessandra pulled her teal dress shirt aside so he could see the phrase tattooed in elegant cursive on her collarbone. "For Queen and Country, Dr. Watson. That's what my life is now dedicated to. Whether I live or die does not matter so long as these two things are protected. And that's not the only tattoo I have. Figuring out which part Sherlock and Mycroft don't know is up to you." Her face had a tiny hidden, happy smile on it. She straightened out her shirt and black dress pants, gave John a bow and a wink and left. She grabbed her bag just outside the door, taking two steps at a time as she descended the stairs. Mycroft was assembling the Alpha team; her number one stealth operation team. Something big was happening.

Sherlock heard the door downstairs slam shut as she left. Finally. He didn't know what Allessandra and John had been talking about and he didn't want to know. He didn't want to know what she was doing or where she was or if she was in danger. Growing bored quickly as he refused to ponder any of those three things, he ventured into the living room. John was typing away on his computer, no doubt updating his blog. Sherlock rolled his eyes. That blog could crash for all he cared. He dropped down into his chair. It smelled like her. She must have sat here before she left, evident by the hair left on the pillow, he noted. He grit his teeth and resisted all the feelings that boiled up. He turned on the television. It'd distract him for a while if he was lucky. All he had to do was wait for John to leave and post the message. Not much longer.

Allessandra stopped by her house before going to Mycroft's office. Artemis was still with her assistant so the trip was rather quick. She dropped her bag in her room and changed into tighter black pants, a black long sleeved shirt and a pair of black combat boots. Stealth operations in the middle of the night required blending in to the shadows and the dark. Her hair got pulled up into a high ponytail and grabbed her Kevlar vest as a second thought. She repacked the bag she brought to Baker Street with her and slung it over her shoulder. Making sure she had everything, she was on her way.

Sherlock had watched television for nearly an hour and a half. He couldn't exactly say it was completely boring but he could feel his brain cells rotting and his IQ dropping. Realizing John wasn't going to leave any time soon, Sherlock started yelling at the television, hoping it would irritate the doctor enough to leave. After about the fifth or sixth time, he heard a sigh and the click of the computer being shut.

"I won't be in for tea. I'm going to Sarah's. There's still some of that risotto left in the fridge." John got up and grabbed his coat as he spoke. Sherlock was almost giddy on the inside. He nodded and made noises of response to his flat mate; anything to get him to leave faster. "Uh, milk. We need milk."

"I'll get some." Like he said, anything.

"Really?" If he had feelings, John's disbelief would have wounded Sherlock. At this point though, Dr. Watson just needed to leave. He had things to do, plans to make, criminal masterminds to meet.

"Really."

"And some beans, then?" He made another noise of approval to John and nodded his head. He waited until the second door slammed shut after the other man left and counted to three. He pulled out his laptop from beside him.

_Found. The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect. The Pool. Midnight. _

Allessandra didn't even remember the ride to Mycroft's office. She couldn't recall if the ride itself was long or short, if they passed anything interesting or not. But once she entered the large room reserved for these meetings, she was aware. All of the men gave her a salute while Mycroft gave her a nod and a hidden affectionate smile. She motioned with her hand for the few men on her team to stand as they were, with their hands at their sides and paying attention.

"Now that you're here, Allessandra, we can begin." Mycroft slid a file across the desk to her. "Five minutes ago that message was posted on The Science of Deduction." She let a breath out through her nose as she closed her eyes, containing the anger she wanted to express at the embarrassment she felt. Sherlock kept the Bruce-Partington plans and gave her a fake. He was also going to give them to a criminal mastermind at midnight. She was going to tear him apart when she got the chance.

"I'm lead to believe that this means my previous operation is not yet over." Her voice was far from happy about the entire situation. Mycroft indulged her with another smile, this one much less warming than the last. He wasn't happy either.

"From what we have discovered, several guns-for-hire have assembled in the pool building where Carl Powers died. We're guessing that they're on the balcony as it's the only place that provides a proper view of the entire pool. You and your team are going to take them out and replace them. I want the bodies taken care of and I want Moriarty brought back alive if you can manage it. Your number one goal, however, is to keep Sherlock Holmes and John Watson safe. We also have reason to believe that our target, this Moriarty figure, not only knows about one of MI-6's top secret projects but is also actively pursuing it." Mycroft slid another file down the table to her. "The Broadcasting Module is an object still in its testing stages and what is does is on a need-to-know basis. We're adding security to the building that said object is contained in. If you can manage to get any Intel from this encounter, I urge you to do so." She nodded to her boss. "Here are building plans. You'll leave here in twenty minutes; no more, no less." Mycroft gave Allessandra one last look and left the room, the heavy wood door slamming behind him. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding in.

"Alright, boys. You heard the boss. Keeping Holmes and Watson safe is our number one. Two is to get Moriarty alive. If we can't get him, we find a way to figure out what he knows about the Module." She looked at each of the men quickly. "If he presents a threat, open fire. My bet is us having to aim on our men quite a bit. Play the part but if he signals for fire, turn your sights on him. If worse comes to worse, let him go and don't worry about the Intel. I'll deal with Mycroft afterwards. We're not going to play heroes and kill everyone to get one man. If he walks, he walks. We will get him eventually. Men like this give us numerous chances because they think they can't be caught. The truth they don't realize is that they can be caught and it's our job to catch them, whether it today or in a month. Understand?" Once each man responded to Allessandra with a nod she continued. "This is how we're going to get this done..."

The street was surprisingly clear. The team of eleven were grateful for that. One man stepped in front of Allessandra, opening the door to the pool building. She gave him a nod and brought her rifle up. She let out a deep breath and entered. Her eyes traveled over everything in the front lobby. The man behind her motioned to the doors that lead to the men's and women's changing and shower rooms. Allessandra stepped back letting one pair of men go secure the men's rooms while another pair went to secure the women's room. She brought five men up the stairs to the balcony area with her, two staying behind to keep the lobby secure.

"Men's side is clear, ma'am." Allessandra's communications earpiece crackled softly in her ear.

"Women's side is clear too, ma'am." It crackled again a second later. She was glad she didn't startle easily anymore. Her and the rest of the team climbed the stairs and turned the corner, men coming into view. She was the first one to react, catching a large gun-for-hire in the shoulder. The second shot went through his heart. Allessandra almost cursed herself for poor aim. Her team followed her lead, firing on the targets. A few managed to fire back, one bullet hitting her Kevlar vest and another barely missing her arm. She grimaced at the impact and shot the man who hit her in the head. She wasn't looking forward to the bruise that was going to leave. As the last man fell, Allessandra signaled for cease fire. She walked to the bodies, assessing them all. Remorse didn't touch her as she drew a knife from a sheath on her leg and stabbed one of the surviving men on the ground. She repeated the action two more times on other stubborn survivors before cleaning the knife off on a dead man's shirt and putting it away.

"You four load the men in the van. Do it quickly. The rest of you take point. Someone will be arriving any minute and remember which two are number one tonight." She pointed to men who had more experience in dumping bodies to take care of the clean-up she wasn't able to do herself. All she could do now was wait.

Allessandra knew she shouldn't complain. She'd chased men through the hottest temperatures Africa had and survived Russia's freezing winters on operations just like this one. All she wanted, though, was for her arms to not be numb and her body not so cold. While her outfit provided the dark camouflage she needed, it didn't do much to keep her warm.

"Ma'am, we've gotten all the bodies loaded." Her earpiece broke the monotony of her thoughts.

"Good. Take them back to the warehouse. Use the chemicals to melt the bodies. Then dump them in hazardous waste barrels and bury them out at that construction site down the road. Make sure it's deep and in a spot that's about to be covered by concrete." Her voice was low as to not be heard. It was minutes from midnight and she was waiting for Sherlock or Moriarty to show their face first.

"Consider it done, ma'am." One of the men's' response drifted into her earpiece again. She had six more men on the roof with her, each waiting for action. Her breath caught in her throat as the sound of a door opening met her ears.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** So, where I live its just over a half hour past midnight...which means its Friday...which means you've stumbled across the weekly update of _For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires_! I really look forward to these updates. You guys don't even know. And, they just gave me another day at work so we're going to have to stick to the updates every Friday. But that means my Friday, not yours. Which means I'll post just after midnight. Meaning that its still Thursday for some of you. I love time zones. Sorry for my ramble. I just watched the new Ron White skit and that plus my excitement for this, I'm ramble-y. Also, I just started writing chapter ten, so I'm a fair bit ahead. Thats just in case I get a severe case of writer's block, you guys aren't screwed. I'm thinking ahead for y'all. Id like to thank Gwilwillith and TaylorRiley17 for their reviews! Thank you guys so so much! I love reviews, I really do. I wish more of you would leave some, though! Constructive criticism is what I'm looking for. Anywho...tyeah. Review and enjoy the next chapter!

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"I brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. Oh, that's what it's all been for, hasn't it? All your little puzzles; making me dance – all to distract me from this." Allessandra clenched her eyes shut at Sherlock's voice. Of course he would show up first. Couldn't the man be late for anything in his life?

"Evening." John's voice rang out as he stepped out of a side door. She flinched at its sound. Sherlock faltered as well, disbelief painted across his face. "This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?"

"John. What the hell ...?" This time, she did flinch. Sherlock's voice was full of hurt. She pushed off the flashback that threatened to overtake her mind. She couldn't afford for that to happen right now. Later, but not right now. Still, a feeling of despair and regret rolled through her, leaving a sense of impending doom. Her current happenings were too important. She pushed everything aside in her mind and focused.

"I bet you never saw this coming." One of the men was signaled as John opened his coat, revealing a semtex vest. A laser appeared on his chest in the same moment. "What…would you like me…to make him say…next? Gottle o' gear, gottle o' gear, gottle o' gear." Sherlock managed to take a few steps towards his friend as he looked for Moriarty.

"Stop it."

"Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him." John cringed. "I can stop John Watson too. "He looked to the red laser on his heart, not knowing in was being controlled by a good guy. "Stop his heart."

"Who are you?" Allessandra strained her ears to hear Sherlock's near whisper.

"I gave you my number." Her entire body tensed as the Irish accented voice called out. "I thought you might call." Her eyes darted along the other side of the pool, looking for the owner of the voice. She watched a man with an expensive suit and slicked back hair stroll into the open. His hands were in his pockets and a half smirk was on his face, making his way towards Sherlock and John. "Is that British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?" Allessandra dropped her head for a second. She couldn't believe Sherlock brought a gun. Well, yes, she could believe it, but she didn't want to.

"Both." She lifted her head back up in time to see Sherlock aim at the man. Last time she had seen him point a gun at someone, they'd been kids and it was a BB gun. She had scars to prove how bad the shots hurt. Once Sherlock realized he made her bleed, he'd thrown down the gun and refused to point one at another person. The question of why he went back on that lingered in her brain for just a second.

"Jim Moriarty. Hi!" Sherlock looked the man over again, his brain cataloguing all the details. "Jim? Jim from the hospital? Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point." She noticed Moriarty's eyes flick to where her and her team were nod he gave wasn't noticeable to anyone but someone looking for it. That was their signal. She motioned for the man with his gun on John to make a little movement. This had to be realistic. She watched Sherlock's face contort in a bit of confusion. "Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty. I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see... like you!" Moriarty was at the corner of the pool by now and every set of eyes were on him.

"Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister? Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"

"Just so."

"Consulting criminal." Moriarty grinned proudly at Sherlock.

"Isn't it? No-one ever gets to me – and no-one ever will." Allessandra shook her head as Sherlock cocked the pistol. She pulled out her phone and with the backlight off; she shot a text to Mycroft.

_Huge problem. Need to distract Moriarty. –A. Caswell_

"I did."

"You've come the closest. Now you're in my way."

"Thank you."

"Didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Yes, you did."

"Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock…" Moriarty's voice changed. "Daddy's had enough now!" She cringed. "I've shown you what I can do. I cut lose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off. Although I have loved this, this little game of ours; playing Jim from I.T.; playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

_How? –Mycroft Holmes_

"People have died."

"That's what people DO!" Allessandra would never admit it, but her trigger finger flinched. She almost pulled it. It was one of the few times that someone had managed to shock her.

"I will stop you."

_I don't know. Escalating situation. Get me anything. –A. Caswell_

"No, you won't."

"You all right?" Sherlock questioned the frazzled looking John. John didn't answer, not even looking at his friend.

"You can talk, Johnny-boy. Go ahead." Moriarty spoke next to John's ear. She watched John nod to Sherlock. That's when the consulting detective pulled a memory stick from his pocket, holding it out to the consulting criminal.

"Take it." That rat bastard.

"Huh? Oh! That! The missile plans!" Moriarty took the plans and kissed them, looking at them dearly. In a split second the twinkle in his eyes returned. "Boring! I could have got them anywhere." Moriarty tossed the device into the pool. She couldn't help but think her job went along with it. In the same moment, John slammed himself against Moriarty, holding onto him. 'Holy fucking shit' was the only thing Allessandra could think.

_CROFT! –A. Caswell_

"Sherlock, run!" It was John who finally spoke, urging his flat mate to go.

_Working on it. –Mycroft Holmes_

"Good! Very good." The villain managed to speak in between his laughs.

"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up." John sounded every bit the army captain once again. Allessandra couldn't help but give a small smile despite the situation. He could have had 'for queen and country' tattooed across his forehead. She knew John would forever be trying to save as many people as possible.

"Isn't he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets. They're so touchingly loyal. But, oops!" Moriarty gave a tilt if his head, another signal, this time for the laser to shift. Allessandra matched it with her own signal, a twitch of her fingers in the air, and the man holding the gun did as instructed. The dot appeared on Sherlock's forehead. "You've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson. Gotcha!" John, taking the bait, let go of the criminal and stepped back with his hands in the air. The laser moved back to John. Jesus, Mycroft, what the hell is taking you so damn long?! "Westwood!" The man gestured to his suit after straightening it out. "Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?"

"Oh, let me guess: I get killed."

"Kill you?" He grimaced. "N-no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway some day. I don't wanna rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No-no-no-no-no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you."

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."

"But we both know that's not quite true. Well, I'd better be off. It's so nice to have had a proper chat." Sherlock raised the pistol higher. No, no, no; Allessandra wanted to scream at him. Sherlock was mucking up the plans more and more.

"What if I was to shoot you now, right now?"

"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." Moriarty mocked a shocked face in Sherlock's direction in response to the latter's question. "'Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock; really I would. And just a teensy bit disappointed. And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes." And the criminal walked back to the door he arrived through, giving one last look to Sherlock before disappearing. She was sure she'd lose her job at that point.

_Got it. –Mycroft Holmes_

"Catch…you…later."

_Don't bother. It passed. You're too slow. –A. Caswell_

"No you won't!" The sing-song voice was taunting. As soon as the door was heard closing again, Sherlock moved to John. His hands quickly worked at getting the explosives off.

"All right? Are you all right?"

"Yeah-yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine. Sherlock. Sh-Sherlock!" Sherlock removed the vest and slid it across the building of the pool. It still wasn't a safe distance away, but it was better than being on John still. "Jesus." He reached up and pulled the earpiece from his ear. Allessandra watched as shock began to set in. Sherlock watched him for just a moment before checking the door Moriarty went through. John slid down the wall he had leaned against. Sherlock came back, oblivious to his friend in shock. She wanted to go down there and strangle him for idiocy. The idiot proceeded to pace up along the pool, scratching his head with the barrel of a loaded and cocked pistol. "Are you okay?" She had no idea why John was asking Sherlock rather than taking the gun from the idiot.

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Fine. That, er, thing that you, er, that you did; that, um…you offered to do. That was, um…good." 'Thank you' of the year goes to Sherlock Holmes, everybody, Allessandra couldn't help but sarcastically think to herself as she rolled her eyes.

"I'm glad no-one saw that. You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk." She smirked. People already talked. The two men often defined what a homosexual male couple should look like and do.

"People do little else." Her eyes widened in horror. They all got the signal, a nod from Moriarty as he made his way back to the pool. Everyone one on her team raised their guns and pointed at the residents of 221B Baker Street. John's face contorted with horror.

_Whatever that was, give it to me NOW. –A. Caswell_

"Sorry, boys! I'm so changeable!" Moriarty appeared again, that smirk back on his face. Allessandra wanted to do nothing more than smack it off. "It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness. You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!" He stood perfectly calm with his hands in his pockets, eyes burning with a challenge.

_Here. –Mycroft Holmes _

"Probably my answer has crossed yours." Sherlock lowered the gun to the vest, his finger poised over the trigger. Allessandra pressed the green button on her phone. The Bee Gee's 'Staying Alive' rang out as a phone went off.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** So...welcome to the slightly late update of _For Queen Country and Selfish Desires_. I've had the most hectic day. And I've been running on three hours of sleep and a hangover from hell. My advice, don't drink and not sleep before your busiest day of the week. And I didn't even go to work! I did, however, remember this. I know, I know - but, Nikki, how could you forget this story? I thought you looked forward to it every Friday? I do! I really do. My day has been that busy. I seriously almost forgot, but then stanleydoodles updated her amazing story and I was all like 'oh, shit'. All in all, yes its a bit late and I hope no one hates me. Reality got the best of me this time. Also, I'm having a bit of writer's block that's irritating. The ideas are there but they're not coming out or they want to come out when I don't have time to write. Any who, thank you to stanleydoodles, Being4TheBenefitOfMrKite, ChidorixCixBritannia, and Gwilwillith. I loved hearing from each and every one of you! Seriously. It makes my day. I hope y'all enjoy this chapter and remember to please, please, please review!

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"Hello?" Allessandra almost froze as Jim Moriarty's voice came through her phone. Though she had heard it before, in the open as he talked to Sherlock, it was much different when he was speaking directly to her.

"Is this Jim Moriarty?" She asked, confidence quickly filling her voice. She couldn't afford to show she was afraid. Not that she was in the first place.

"Yes, of course it is. What do you want?"

"My name is Allessandra Caswell, Mr. Moriarty. I work in, well, let's just say I work in a minor part of the government. I recently have come into possession of an item I know you've been trying to get your hands on." She couldn't help but grin as the lie rolled off her tongue and the criminal below visibly became tenser. "Does the Broadcasting Module sound familiar?"

"SAY THAT AGAIN! Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will skin you."

"I assure you, Mr. Moriarty, that I am not lying. I have the Module for you, and if you are interested, I am willing and able to set up a trade. If I were you though, I'd leave Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson alone. You never know when you may need the world's only consulting detective to play with."

"Wait." Allessandra bit her lip as she watched the criminal move. He took a few steps towards the explosive vest and looked to Sherlock. "Sorry. Wrong day to die."

"Oh. Did you get a better offer?" She could hear the sarcasm in Sherlock's voice.

"You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock." Moriarty tuned and started walking away, back around the pool. "So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes." He reached the door and snapped his fingers, allowing the team to drop their guns. Allessandra almost sighed in relief.

"Like I said before, I'm not lying."

"And what would you like in return for the Module, Ms. Caswell?" An almost bored drawl laced itself in his voice. "Or are you trying to protect Sherlock Holmes and his pet?" His voice was gaining that enthusiasm back. "Oh, yes, Ms. Caswell, I know exactly who you are. I know your position in the government and who you work for." She watched Sherlock and John talk for a minute. John took his phone out and dialed a number.

"I want you to leave Sherlock Holmes and John Watson alone, Mr. Moriarty."

"Why should I? Sherlock certainly enjoys playing with me."

"I don't suppose you realize what kind of information the both of them wield. They're valuable assets alive."

"Oh, that is interesting. You've decided to play the game." She bet her next paycheck the mad man was enjoying playing with her. "Tell you what, Allessandra, I'll take the Module and leave the consulting detective and his pet alone for, oh, six months. Do we have a deal?"

"A year and I'll be in contact to renegotiate after that period of time." John got off the phone and spoke to Sherlock again, both of them leaving.

"You do drive a hard bargain, but I'll bite. I'll tell you where I want the Module left tomorrow morning. I want it put in that location by no later than noon."

"That can be arranged."

"Splendid. Until next year, Allessandra Caswell. Give Mycroft my regards, will you?" He hung up. With a sigh, Allessandra typed out a text and sent it to Mycroft. If her job wasn't lost before, it was now.

_Negotiated with Moriarty. Traded the Broadcasting Module for Sherlock and John's safety for the next year. Drop will be made tomorrow before noon. –A. Caswell_

She could only hope she wasn't shot after this.

Allessandra and her team snuck off the balcony and out of the pool building without any trouble. Using the back alleys, they piled back into the van.

"Job well done, guys." She nodded to the men she worked with. It wasn't often she worked with the team and she greatly enjoyed it. It reminded her of her time in America. When she first started all this. She shook her head and started on her next goal. Not caring that she had numerous men in the van with her, she stripped and redressed in pajamas. The van was being driven down the backstreets, getting back to Baker Street as quickly as possible. When the van came to a screeching halt, she jumped out with her bag and jogged up the stairs. She dropped her bag in the same spot it hand been in earlier in the day and dropped herself on the couch, covering up with a blanket in one swift movement. She just managed to open a magazine and look as if she had been reading for a while when the door slammed open again.

"Allessandra! I thought you had work to do?" John looked at her with a mildly surprised expression. Sherlock, on the other hand, stared her down. She gave the doctor a soft smile.

"I had to stop by the office and drop off the Bruce-Partington Plans." She closed the magazine and laid it back on the table in front of her. "I was told to stay here another day, for my safety. I hope that's okay with the both of you." She shot them one of her miracle working smiles and locked her ocean blue eyes on Sherlock's gray-blue eyes. He felt the annoying, unidentified burning sensation roll around in his gut almost instantaneously. Sherlock watched as her pupils dilated. Her pulse in her neck started to speed up, he noted. He watched, entranced, as she licked her bottom lip and proceeded to bite it, subconsciously it seemed. Sherlock felt his mouth open just a fraction in a equally subconscious response, his palms growing warm and preparing to perspire. The burning feeling was spreading. Why? Why were they reacting to each other like this? It set a shot of irritation through Sherlock's chest.

"Hamish!" Both people jumped and turned their attention on the third person in the room. "John Hamish, if you're looking for names." The consulting detective scoffed at John and retreated to his room. He hung his coat on the hook with a vengeance. He couldn't believe she was back. He was sure she'd be done at Baker Street. She got the plans back to his brother; Mycroft already threatened him with a knighthood. Again. He slammed his head against the wall just next to the door, clenching his hands into fists.

"So," Allessandra cleared her throat, "can I stay, Dr. Watson?"

"Of course you can stay for another day! You can stay for as long as you'd like, dear." Mrs. Hudson unexpectedly swept through with a tray full of tea.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." Allessandra gave the elder woman one of her innocent smiles as she retrieved the tea offered to her. "I appreciate it so much." John thanked Mrs. Hudson for his cup of tea and sat in a chair opposite her. They let the older woman talk to herself as she bustled about, cleaning a bit.

"So, how was your night John?" Allessandra held the smile back. She knew exactly how his night went.

"It was fine." He sighed. "Overall, it was fine. About as normal as it gets around here."

"That eventful?" She let the grin shine.

"You have no idea."

"With Sherlock around, I'm sure I could give a few good guesses." She sipped at the tea in her hand and shifted on the couch.

"So, you've had…experiences with Sherlock?" John almost stuttered part way through his sentence and drank his tea. She smiled.

"If we're going to continue this conversation, I'm going to need a stronger drink. What've you got?" John got out of his seat. He searched the kitchen and came out with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. "Ah, my drink of choice. John Watson, I could kiss you right now." She watched him turn a bit red and chuckle.

"Just answer more questions for me and we'll call it even." Allessandra put the cup of tea down, accepting the tumbler of whiskey. It slid down her throat with a pleasant burn that produced a pleasure filled sigh to escape her lips. "Tell me about you and Sherlock." She shrugged automatically.

"There's nothing to tell." John made the most unpleasant scoffing sound and rolled his eyes.

"Please. I'm not blind, Allessandra. Sherlock and you obviously have a past. The sexual tension in the room earlier could have been cut with a knife. Tell me about the both of you." She took a rather large drink of the whiskey in her hand and bit her lip. Her internal fight was only a few seconds long. She made up her mind.

"For tonight, Dr. Watson, I can tell you how Sherlock and I met."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Guess what guys? We're on chapter nine of _For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires_! I'm very, very excited. Particularly about the upcoming chapters. Yes, they're all written and waiting on my hard drive for the next Friday for them to be release. I'm horrible, aren't I? Anyways, the only chapters that are larger than this one so far are six and seven. Yeah, I keep track. Actually, that's one of the ways I can tell a chapter is finished; its length. I digress. Thank you to - TaylorRiley17, Gwilwillith, ChidorixCixBritannia, Lorna Roxen, stanleydoodles, and Silver Eyed Slayer. Seriously, you guys are the reason I keep writing. I got the last review on the last chapter just as I got off work the other day, and I read it as a demand for me to update. It just made me smile. I love hearing from you guys and that you like what I'm writing. Please, please, please keep telling me! Review and enjoy...

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Allessandra drained her glass and motioned for John to refill it. This part of her past wasn't bad, meeting Sherlock and Mycroft was always one of the things she'd never regret. She was draining the alcohol because of what led up to her meeting the Holmes boys. With a resigned sigh, she started speaking.

"Before I go straight into the story, I have to give you some background. My father was a military man. He worked hard to get up to the high rank of colonel. He demanded perfection from near every aspect of my life, as was expected from someone whose life often circled perfection. His infantries got the most praise for their perfection in the field and on base." She shifted in her seat and started playing with the empty glass in her hand. John lifted the bottle of whiskey; an offer of more. She nodded and let him fill the glass. "As a child, you never notice abnormal things about your family. You assume everything happening is supposed to happen. I think I was ten when I realized things weren't normal after dark. Or when we went on vacation." She gave a rueful smile and sipped at the whiskey. "We had - well, have. It's mine now. Anyways, the vacation home is in Manchester. We'd spend the entire summer there. I knew my father drank a lot but I never noticed just how much. When it got later in the night, my mother would send me to my room and tell me not to come out to morning, no matter what. I'd hear yelling and screaming and things being thrown around." Allessandra closed her eyes, a hand going to her temple.

_A crash. Mommy's scream. Daddy was yelling again. She curled up under the bed more, trying to hide. Why was daddy yelling at mommy? And why was mommy screaming again? Why?_

"Allessandra?" John's voice brought her back. He noticed the flash of fear in her eyes and the slight clench in her jaw. He watched her let out a breath and blink it all away.

"My apologies. Where was I?"

"You were explaining about your father." His voice was low and cautious. She nodded and sipped at the whiskey.

"He was beating my mother. I didn't know it until I snuck out and watched it one day. I mean, I had always known something was off with my parents but never what. I only snuck out a handful of times." She paused, looking into her glass.

"You were caught."

_"What're you doing out here, you little bitch? I thought your whore of a mother sent you to bed?"_

_"I was in bed, daddy, I was!"_

_"It doesn't look that way to me, lying cunt. You're just like your mother; useless!" The blow of his fist and the ache that followed was all she could remember._

Allessandra nodded solemnly.

"I never got a beating as bad as I did that night. I learned to follow every command to a 't' and not ask questions. Of course, he still found reasons to hit me; my hair wasn't just right or my bed wasn't folded properly. When I look back on it I'm sure he just wanted someone new to put his hands on."

"How did you meet Sherlock if your father was that controlling?" Allessandra gave John a smile and drank her whiskey.

"By the time I was thirteen, I was used to the beatings. I knew how to hide my bruises. That summer when we went to Manchester, I asked to go to the library once a week. My father allowed it. I had started the request the previous summer and upon return to America, I had been pushed forward a year at school. My father was pleased and that resulted in my continued visits. I'd hop on the nearest bus and revel in the joy of being away from my life, if only for a few hours."

_The air was fresh and a much welcomed change from the stale air of the house. In a rare occurrence, the sun was shining. Allessandra couldn't help but soak in the little vitamin d she was getting. The roads to the library looked that same as they did last year, none of the buildings having changed. With glee, she pulled on the chord to signal a stop at the library. She bounded off the bus like a kid going to a candy shop._

"That part of the summer I was focusing on chemistry. I had read a book on the plane ride over to get the basics down and another more in depth book on the drive from London to Manchester. It took a little bit of research but I tracked down a book on advanced chemistry that was published only in Britain. As I reached to grab it off the shelf it was stored on, my hand hit another's. A tall, lanky boy with a mop of dark hair, dressed in rather nice clothes stood next to me, reaching for the same book."

"Sherlock." John cracked a bit of a smile. Allessandra refused to give the obvious answer away.

"The boy looked at me, lifted his eyebrow and snatched the book off the shelf, retreating to a table in the back of the library. I had never noticed him before while I was in the library. I let him be with the book and resolved to come back the next day to see if it had been returned. My father was ecstatic with newfound enthusiasm towards learning. He let me go every day, so long as I was back by nine and I proved to him that I learned something. So, every day for a week and a half, I went back to the library and checked for that book. I read others in the meantime, but I was persistent."

"Is that any different from now?" John's smiled stuck as he sipped his whiskey. Allessandra followed the action.

"I suppose not. But what has changed is my temper. I didn't have very good control of it back then but I knew if my father heard about me making a scene," She shuttered and John watched her free hand clench, "let's just say it wouldn't have ended well for me." She gave a sarcastic smile. "But I was very fed up with this boy holding onto the book. It was sitting on top of a pile, taunting me; he was taunting me. I called out to him a few times, trying to politely get his attention. I'm sure he was ignoring me. And it caused me to snap. I stormed over to his table one afternoon, snatched the book he was reading from his hands and slammed it down on the table. I got the boys attention." Her eyes almost sparkled as she cracked a smirk.

_"Now that I have your attention," the boy raised his eyebrow at her again, "I was wondering if you were finished with that book." Thirteen-year-old Allessandra pointed to the book in question, at the top of one of his piles. His eyes roamed over her and locked onto ocean blue orbs. _

_"What would a wealthy American on vacation in Manchester need a book filled with articles written on advanced chemistry for?"_

_"Why would a wealthy Brit come to the library every day and keep a book filled with articles written on advanced chemistry when they are so obviously done reading it? On second thought, why would said Brit need to read it when they are so obviously ahead of the subject?" She motioned to the stack of physical chemistry books. _

_"Why would an American care what a Brit did?"_

_"Because this American would like to read that book." The boy stared at her for another minute. He grabbed the book with a sigh and handed it to her. _

_"I don't know why you'd bother. You probably don't even know what an element is." Allessandra pursed her lips, giving the boy a glare. _

_"The concept of chemical element is related to that of chemical substance. A chemical element is specifically a pure substance which is composed of a single type of atom. A chemical element is characterized by a particular number of protons in the nuclei of its atoms. This number is known as the atomic number of the element. Anything else?"_

_"Ions." She smirked at the boy. _

_"That's easy. An ion is a charged species, an atom or a molecule, that has lost or gained one or more electrons. When an atom loses an electron and thus has more protons than electrons, the atom is a positively-charged ion or cation. When an atom gains an electron and thus has more electrons than protons, the atom is a negatively-charged ion or anion. Cations and anions can form a crystalline lattice of neutral salts, such as the Sodium positive and Chlorine negative ions forming sodium chloride, or NaCl." The boy looked at her, caught between shock and amusement. He contemplated something for a second._

_"I found that this also helped while reading that." The boy grabbed another book and handed it to her as well. Allessandra stood there and blinked at him before accepting the book. _

_"Thank you. My name is Allessandra Caswell, by the way." The boy knocked his knuckles on the table twice and extended his hand. _

_"Sherlock Holmes." She shook his hand and gave him a genuine smile. _

_"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sherlock." She retreated to her own table after that and started reading the book she had been pining after._

"So you showed up Sherlock Holmes?" Allessandra could see John was amused.

"I proved him wrong about me, that's all."

"Well, what happened next?" Allessandra drank the last bit of her whiskey.

"Before I knew it, the library was closing. I stacked up the books that could be put back on the shelf and collected the books I was borrowing for the night. Sitting out on the curb, waiting for the bus, I watched a car drive up. A man several years my senior got out and proceeded to collect Sherlock from inside along with all his books. I waved to Sherlock, who hesitantly waved back. The man spoke with him before coming over to me."

_"Hello. I'm Sherlock's brother, Mycroft. He says you assaulted him for a book today." The smile on his face was clearly amused. Allessandra couldn't help but grin back at him. _

_"Assault is such a strong word. I'd say I forcibly got his attention." His smile seemed to turn genuine as he chuckled. _

_"Is that so? I was wondering if you'd like a ride home. The buses aren't the safest for young woman and the weather is looking dreadful." She glanced up at the sky, darker than normal clouds working their way around. "I promise to get you home safe." She glanced to the sky one more time and nodded, accepting his help off the ground. The two gathered the stack of books together and put them in the back of the car._

"And that is how I met Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes." The empty tumbler she had in her hand was placed on the table. She gave a tight smile to John's astounded look. "Go to bed, Dr. Watson. You can ask me more questions in the morning."

"But, Allessandra, you-"

"Bed, Dr. Watson." Her tone was sharp and her eyes giving a look that said not to mess with her. "I'm not in any mood to talk more tonight. As I said, I'll answer more questions in the morning if you have any." He watched her for a minute. Her eyes clearly showed fatigue and stress. The clenching of her jaw was probably a subconscious effect of the emotion baggage she just opened up. She dug her nails into the palm if her hand, as if to keep herself her and not fall into another flashback. The doctor in John was diagnosing a mild form of post-traumatic stress disorder. At least, that's what he could tell without a psychological evaluation. He also knew first hand not to push at the subject. Instead he nodded at Allessandra's command.

"Good night, then." As John left, Allessandra curled into a ball on the couch. She'd have nightmares tonight; she already knew she would. She clenched her hands together, feeling her nails bite into her flesh. She'd deal with it, like she dealt with everything else.

On the other side of his door, Sherlock listened to the story. He knew he'd have dreams and nightmares that night too. He could believe what this one woman was doing. Everything he locked away in his mind palace for several years now was being brought forth in frenzy. And it was all being done without an explanation. He let out a sigh. Might as well get the long, restless night started.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Hey, look! It's chapter ten of _For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires_! WOOT! Double digits! So, first off, I love this chapter, so much. Second, if anyone can tell me the slightly Moffat related slip I left in this chapter, I will be greatly amused. Third, I'm having trouble writing chapter twelve, so lets pray its done by the time it needs to be posted. It's probably partly because I spent some time with my grandmother who I haven't seen in five years, attended and got tipsy at my Uncle's wedding, and pulled a few double shifts at work. All in a matter of five days. Yeah. Fourth, thank you to TaylorRiley17, stanleydoodles and Gwilwillith for their reviews on the last chapter! For real. I'm about to become a whore for reviews. No lie. And we really don't want that to happen. So, to prevent it, leave me some beautiful reviews! Enjoy and review...

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It took a while for Sherlock's consciousness to come forth. This sleep, while plagued with memories, was deeper and more fulfilling than the sleep he normally got. The bed was warmer than normal. He had his arms wrapped around something that felt vaguely familiar and he didn't want to let go. Whatever it was helped keep the flood of terror at bay. Wait. He was feeling. Terror from the dreams and that annoying burning that happened when Allessandra was near. Sherlock's eyes jolted open. Sure enough, curled up to his chest in his arms was Allessandra. He resisted the urge to jump out of bed screaming. He had listened in to her conversation with John the previous night. He was willing to bet her move from the couch to his bed was probably subconscious. In the past, Allessandra had snuck into his and Mycroft's rooms on nights when her father dished out a particularly bad beating. She sought out comfort and protection from the people she trusted most. And when Mycroft was away at Uni, that person was Sherlock.

_There was a knock on the study window. It didn't startle the seventeen year old Sherlock, a knock on the window at this time of night was nothing new. He didn't make a sound as he got up from his chair and opened the window to let the now sixteen, almost seventeen, year old Allessandra in. _

_"Help, Sher." She hand one hand on the window's bottom ledge and the other wrapped around her ribs. It was miracle she hadn't fallen from where she scaled the trellis to the second floor study. Sherlock wrapped his hand around her wrist and heaved her into the room. _

_"Bloody hell, what did you do this time?" His reaction shot out before he could think. She had bruises all over her arms, blood at her temple and a split lip. Adding in the fact that she was wheezing and holding her ribs still, it was easy to say Sherlock was concerned. _

_"Apparently," she huffed out, "I was not only out past curfew, but the information I learned at the library today was a repeat of something I've told him before and was therefore lying to him." She cracked a bit of a grin. _

_"This is nothing to be grinning about, Allie!" Sherlock was giving her a rare scolding. She couldn't help but grin more. "Your ribs could be broken for all you know!" She shook her head. _

_"Been there, done that. Doesn't hurt that bad. They might be badly bruised, cracked if anything. Not broken though. He wouldn't risk it again."_

_"May I?" Sherlock motioned to her hurt ribs. Over the years he studied a bit of medical related texts to help out in situations like this. His hands pressed into her ribs, pulling back as Allessandra winced with a strangled gasp. "They feel cracked but that doesn't explain why you're having trouble breathing." She shrugged. _

_"Maybe I'm just exhausted; lack of stamina after a beating. I don't fucking know." She managed to pull herself up with the help of a chair and Sherlock. "Is 'Croft home yet? His window was locked. And it's one hell of a climb from there to here, you know." He nodded with a frown. _

_"He got in a few hours ago. Had dinner and retired for the night." Walking on her own, she winced in time with her slight limp. Sherlock moved to help her but she stopped him. _

_"I'm fine." Sherlock scoffed at Allessandra's obvious lie. "I'm going to wash some of this blood off, I'm going to use the bandages in the closet to bind my ribs and I'm going to sleep with my boyfriend in his bed for the first time in months. And I don't mean that in a sexual way, not that I couldn't even have sex with how much pain I'm in. Anyways, goodnight, Sher. Thank you for the help." She gave him a smile. He watched her walk off, a frown on his face and jealousy heavy in his stomach._

With a silent sigh and the resignation of his stubbornness, he tucked Allessandra's head under his chin and went back to sleep.

As soon as Allessandra let her mind wake, she knew she wasn't on the couch. In fact, the strictly woodsy and masculine scent around her told her exactly where she was. And as much as she knew she should get up, she didn't want to leave Sherlock's strong arms. Her position brought back memories, and while not all of them were good, it filled her with a sense of comfort and protection she wasn't offered anymore. Actually, she was tempted to fake sleep just to avoid moving. However, her internal clock was telling her that it was rolling onto ten o'clock already and she had to leave today. Besides, there was a painfully obvious pressure pushing against her and the nice side of her wanted to spare Sherlock some embarrassment. The other side of her, the sexual frustrated and Sherlock-attracted side of her, wanted to - yeah, time to get out of bed. Allessandra immediately slid with a practiced ease from the consulting detective's arms and rolled over. She landed on her hands and knees with no sound and the grace of a cat.

"You couldn't get out of the bed like a normal person?" Allessandra's entire body tensed at the sound of Mycroft's voice in the bedroom. She should have guessed that he'd come retrieve her after her stunt last night. She was willing to bet her security clearances were being recalled as the current situation played out.

"Good morning, Mycroft. Have we started having government meetings in my bedroom now?" Sherlock's sarcastic voice made Allessandra jump. Shit, she was off her game today. She needed a few hours back in training with the rookies.

"No, no. I was just admiring you and Alice in bed together." She shot her boss a glare.

"'Croft-"

"I don't know why. You've seen her in bed before." She turned scarlet at Sherlock's words.

"Yes, but not with you, brother." Mycroft's smirk earned a half of a smirk from Sherlock.

"And I'm sure there's a reason she's chosen my bed over your's." Allessandra was mortified. Mycroft open his mouth to respond once more when she put her hand up, her jaw clenched.

"I don't know what's gotten into either of you, but if you insist on having this argument, have it when I'M NOT IN THE FUCKING ROOM!" She lost control at the brothers. She turned to the man who signed her paychecks first. "Whether this is retaliation for my decisions at work last night or you've just got a hair up your ass today, I expect - hell - everyone expects better from you! You're the OLDER BROTHER, MYCROFT! FUCKING ACT LIKE IT!" She took a breath and turned to Sherlock. "And you," she pointed at him, "know damn well that I wasn't in your bed for a good time. To be honest, I'm sure your sneaky, nosey ass heard my conversation with Dr. Watson last night and knew exactly what I was doing here. So, DO - NOT - ACT - LIKE WE FUCKED TIL THE BREAK OF DAWN!"

"I'm sorry, but, what's happening?" John was just in the doorway, clearly having been roused from bed by Allessandra's yelling. She let out a scream and stormed out of the bedroom. She would not continue this with another person in the room. She wouldn't continue this at all. Without another thought, she sent a text to Arthur to come get her and she gathered all her belongings. Mycroft and John watched her silently. As she slung her bag over her shoulder, Mycroft stepped forward to take it.

"I have Anthea with the car-"

"Fuck you, Mycroft. Fuck you, fuck Anthea and fuck your car."

"You've already done one of those!" Sherlock's voice came from the bedroom.

"Go jump of a roof, Sherlock, and make sure you fucking land in hell!" She slammed every door shut behind her. Arthur took her bag and placed it in the car. "Take me to the airport. Call ahead and get the jet ready. I'll change on the way to Cambridge." Arthur gave a knowing smile.

"Has it been one of those mornings, ma'am?"

"Shut up and do your job, Arthur." He smiled and shut the door after his boss.

Her private plane landed in Cambridge airport near forty-five minutes later. She nodded to her pilot with a smile and departed the aircraft. She had her small bag in hand, full of clothes. Allessandra was hoping that being near an hour and a half away for a day or two would help her clear her head. She knew she should be at the office for damage control and a debriefing but, at this point, she could care less. If she had spent any more time in London, she may have shot someone. On the Tarmac, an airport employee handed her a set of keys and opened the door to a very nice, discreet car for her. She turned the vehicle over and grinned at the roar. Maybe an imported American Mustang wasn't exactly discreet. She dropped her aviators onto her nose, a grin on her face as she peeled out.

At Cambridge University, she made her way to where the psychology classes took place. She was looking for a particular room, one she hadn't been to in a few years. Allessandra found it just as the class was exiting. She slipped in the door as it was shutting. The instructor was at the front of the room, speaking with a student. As soon as his chocolate brown eyes hit Allessandra's ocean blues, he gave his student a smile and excused him from the room.

"I haven't seen you in a while." The instructor spoke to her with a Scottish accent, sliding his hands into his pockets.

"You know how it goes; people to kill, bodies to hide, governments to control." He smiled at her again, moving his tall and lanky form towards her.

"But you wouldn't be here unless something was wrong, Allessandra. I haven't seen you in, hell, ten years?"

"Eight years, three months and two days." She smiled. "They keep track of my medical file. I'm just surprised you remember me." The man smirked.

"Well, you are one remarkable case." She put her hand up to stop his line of thought. It could go in several different directions, a few of them sexual, but that wasn't what she was here for. Sure, in the past the two of them had contemplated pursuing that part of their relationship, but quickly agreed that they'd make better friends.

"David, my PTSD is getting worse." The psychologist in front of her cocked his head and leaned against a desk.

"How so? Have you developed more symptoms? And do you know what triggered it?"

"Patient - doctor confidentiality still apply in a classroom?" David nodded. "I woke up in Sherlock Holmes's bed this morning. I had slept-walked there in the middle of the night. I had told his roommate my past and how Sherlock and I met, so that was probably the stressor. But I thought we worked through all this?" He shrugged.

"Therapy is a fickle matter. It will work with some people and it won't work with others. How's your sleep pattern?"

"Royally fucked with the jobs I've been doing. Even when I have time to sleep, I can't." She watched him nod. His eyes were calculating as his brain went through possible solutions.

"Flashbacks?"

"Only when I was telling the story. I didn't have any before and I haven't had any since." David stood to his full height.

"We could always medicate you." He motioned for Allessandra to follow him as he moved out the door and down the hallway of Cambridge.

"Hell no. If you did that, they'd take me off active duty." David gave a rueful smile.

"Ah, yes, for queen and country. You exhibited that loyalty eight years ago when we first started our sessions." She gave her psychologist a sideways glance.

"What can I say? I've always been loyal to some higher power." David chuckled.

"How long are you in Cambridge, Allessandra?" They took a turn down a relatively deserted hallway and entered an office. David took a seat behind the desk, looking over the large calendar placed on it.

"I'm here until my boss finds me."

"We can do therapy sessions if you'd like. I'd also like to try eye movement desensitization and reprocessing with you. It's proven to have to best results with PTSD patients." Allessandra nodded and sat in a leather chair opposite the desk.

"Let's get started."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** So, so, so sorry guys. I cant do my normal rant. My life is spinning helplessly out of control. Thanks to those who reviewed! Enjoy, review and see you next week!

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The flat screen tv on the wall was on, sending light though the darkened room. The room was very nice, decorated with an old Victorian London feel. The glass of whiskey was growing warm in her hand, the ice watering down the brown liquor. Her mind was numb and the shake she had developed was gone. She cracked a bit of a smile. She was on her fourth or fifth glass of whiskey and knew that David would have a fit once he found out. Her first session in eight years may have gone well but that was only in a sense. They had made a break through, yes, but they'd also had a setback of sorts.

_David leaned back in his chair, his fingers linked together in front of his face. _

_"We have to do a run-down of your background before we start the eye movement sessions. We're going to identify every emotion you get and everything that triggers them, and then desensitize you. This will-"_

_"It will result in my flashbacks and panic attacks to not be triggered." Allessandra smiled. _

_"You had a panic attack, too?" She shook her head at him. _

_"No, but I had felt one coming on once or twice. I managed to avoid them." David nodded. He picked up a pen and scribbled a few notes on a pad of paper. _

_"Don't you dare even read what I'm writing." She smiled innocently. "You were in the army for how many years; do remind me?"_

_"Five years. Honorable discharge due to mental condition."_

_"The post-traumatic stress disorder?" Allessandra nodded. She remember the day clearly. _

_"We were in battle. One of the enemies had made it to the front line he raised the butt of his gun to hit me and I froze completely. He managed a good hit or two before another member of the battalion shot him." She ran a finger over a barely noticeable scar on her hairline. David made a few more notes._

_"And how did you get into your current occupation?" She smiled at him. _

_"Story for another day. Move on." David pursed his lips and made a scribbled note. _

_"Okay. Then tell me about Sherlock Holmes. You were upset that you woke up in his bed. Isn't that what you wanted all those years ago?" Allessandra shrugged and shrunk down in her seat, not looking in David's direction. She knew it was an obvious ploy to not answer the question but she couldn't help it. "Allessandra, there is no shame in having an attraction to Sherlock." She glared at the therapist. _

_"It's my ex-boyfriend-slash-boss's obnoxiously brilliant and horribly good-looking younger brother. Am I just supposed to jump in bed with him?"_

_"I'm not suggesting that. I'm trying to get you to stop denying your feelings for the younger Mr. Holmes. A romantic relationship honestly wouldn't be bad for you. You ready know him and you trust him or else your subconscious wouldn't have taken you to him when you felt most vulnerable. From what I know of your past, he has proven he won't hurt you. What is holding you back?" She shrugged again. "Is it fear?" She didn't move. "Allessandra, are you afraid that Sherlock is going to hurt you? You can't hide away forever in fear of hurt and heartache. Give him a chance."_

Just after that they started the eye movement desensitization. David waved his hands in front if her eyes and made her think happy thoughts. He assessed her distress level afterwards. It was high, which wasn't unusual for abuse victims during the treatment but she was told to sleep if off, not drink it off. The whiskey just made her feel so much better at the moment. She scoffed at herself. If she kept drinking like this, she'd turn into her father; a drunk. Allessandra put the cup on the nightstand with a slam and rolled over to the opposite side of the bed. She pulled the blankets up to her ears. She hated when she felt like this - insecure, vulnerable, needy. She wanted the want of Sherlock to be gone. Curling in a ball, she fell asleep.

She knew she was dreaming. There was no way she'd be back in Baker Street already. She knew the therapy session wasn't the dream; there was no way her mind would subject her to a dream like that. She also knew that if she were to be in Baker Street, she wouldn't be looking at the green Victorian patterned wallpaper of Sherlock's bedroom. Said man's arms wouldn't be holding into her like a vice grip either. Not even when they were little would he hold her tightly. He didn't understand back then. That was another thing that proved it was a dream. But she didn't know how to wake herself up. Did she even want to wake herself up? David was right; she wanted this for so many years. It was one of the reasons she had avoided Sherlock at all costs. Allessandra didn't want to have to face the fact she was attracted to him. She knew Sherlock wasn't attracted to others like a normal person was. Sure, he pursued and manipulated women into bed, she knew that, but he had no actual relationships. And that's exactly what she wanted with him.

"Stop thinking. You're waking me up." His deep voice grumbled behind her as his arms tightened more. One hand began to rub circles in her flesh with its fingers. That's when she realized she had no clothes on. Sherlock kissed her shoulder where a bullet scar was. He trailed the kisses up to her neck and bit her earlobe, grinding his hips into her. She let out a groan of want. "Perfect. No more thoughts." He settled back down into bed behind her, obviously attempting to go back to bed. Her body was hyper aware of every bit of Sherlock that was touching her. She hoped this dream wasn't making him endowed in certain places he was lacking in in reality. Though, with Sherlock, you never really know. It's not like he has a line of women he's left behind to gossip with.

"Sher..." She rolled over in his arms. He cracked his eyes open and looked at her.

"Allie." He mocked her, a light of amusement in his eyes that she'd never seen before. She put her hands on his chest and leaned up to kiss him. As cliche as it sounded to her, they fit together like a puzzle piece. Every curve of her body fit into the dip of his. Their lips were in sync, tongues dancing together in a familiar way. Sherlock's hand wrapped in her long blonde hair, using it as a device to pull her head back. The kiss broke and he trailed teeth and lips down her neck.

"Sherlock." A knock on his locked bedroom door made them both pause, panting for breath. "Sherlock, I know you and Allessandra are in there. You guys have to come out for food sometime." John's voice echoed through the door. "Don't make me call Mycroft again."

"Go to hell, Watson!" Allessandra yelled at the man on the other side of the door. She was enjoying this too much to give it up. She barely made out the noise of his feet walking away over the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. Sherlock pinned both her wrists above her head with one hand and was using the other one to trace over every inch of her body, while his mouth assaulted her neck. Allessandra squirmed under him, small noises of pleasure encouraging him. Until Sherlock's phone went off. He let out what sounded like a growl and quickly put the phone on silent with the hand that wasn't holding her wrists. He barely got back to what he was doing when her phone went off. She watched his eyes narrow, his glare setting on the offending device. Sherlock put her phone on silent as well. As a second thought, he reached over and unplugged the alarm clock. No more chances for interruption. But another alarm went off. It wasn't one she recognized, but it was irritating nonetheless. She just wanted to finish what was started.

Allessandra roused from her sleep, groggy and hung over. The last alarm from her dream was screaming from somewhere within the hotel. It was splitting her head in two. But, then again, so was the sun streaming into the room. Or was the alarm coming from outside? It sounded almost like police cars and ambulances in addition to a security system. She flipped the television on, groaning at the headline on the news. Allessandra's hotel was plastered across, along with the word 'murders'. The news caster was saying something about a serial killer. She covered her hands with her face. All she could think was 'why me?'.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Hello, Stonehedge! Wait...wrong fandom. Close, though. But, seriously, hello. Welcome to number twelve in _For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires_. I know, I'm late. My apologies. Rememeber when I said I was having trouble writing twelve? No one believed me. Also, I wasn't lying when I said my life was spinning out of control. I'll break it down for you so hopefully ya'll will forgive me. Last time we spoke, I updated. The day after, Saturday, I worked eight hours. Sunday I worked seven, Monday I worked six. I had Tuesday off. Wednesday I worked seven, Thursday and Friday were seven, Saturday was eleven, today was six and tomorrow is another six. That's hours of work. That's also going to be six straight days. I hope I'm understood and we have no issues. Anyways, onto the thank yous. We're gonna do chapter ten and eleven reviews this time 'round. Stanleydoodles gets her own huge, amazing, I-owe-you-one thank you for breaking the dam that was my writer's block today! Seriously, genius in disguise right there. Thank you, thank you, thank you to (tensies first) SummerAngelz, Deathcab4kimmie, ashINwonderland, Gwilwillith, xAngel-Of-The-Operax, TaylorRiley17, (now eleveners) The Yoshinator, Gwilwillith, mariposademuerte, and NightWindAlchemist. Ya'll's reviews mean so much to mean. I felt so fucking bad that I couldn't update on Friday. I love hearing from each and every one of you. It pushes me on even when I'm stuck. I can promise that the next few chapters, while may be fillers, lead to a giant mindfuck. Promise. So, read and review and enjoy the lead up to the mindfuck...

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The hallway was packed with Scotland Yard and reporters. A news crew was trying to make its way through. Allessandra gave a wicked grin. People moved out of her way as she approached. She was dressed in a tailored three piece pin stripe suit, her white shirt matching her white stiletto heels. The MI-6 badge she was assigned could be seen by all, hung out of the pocket of her suit jacket. She figured that was the reason everyone was moving. True, she had a gun in her shoulder holster under her jacket, but it couldn't be seen and she wouldn't use it unless she had to. Some people thought MI-6 agents were running loose. She almost scoffed. Like the commonwealth knew anything. Besides, the vest made it hard to wear the shoulder holster; she was only wearing the damn thing because she was entering a crime scene. Anything could happen.

"Ma'am," the British accent distorted the word, "you can't cross the tape." She smirked at the rookie officer.

"I can go anywhere I damn well please." Allessandra ducked under the tape and made her way towards the body. Forensics was in the process of bagging evidence and capturing it all on film. She stopped once the body was in front of her. The victim was a white female. She looked over the naked, bruised body. This victim was young and very into her image. The attention the victim paid to her freshly dyed blonde hair and newly manicured nails, in addition to the lack of skin damage on her, helped prove this point. Hell, the girly part of Allessandra was almost jealous of the cadaver's bikini wax. She bent down closer. Either this woman had an addiction or she was held captive and starved. Her bones were protruding out of her skin. By the state of the room, which was neat and tidy with a major lack of blood, Allessandra was willing to bet it was an addiction. Addicts had a tendency to be tidy when under the influence of certain drugs and it made them the easiest targets. Just promise them a bit of their drug or choice and you have an instant victim. The body was also dropped in the room, ergo the lack of blood around. She bit her lip. The news report said this was a serial killer's work. If it was a serial killer, chances are that Sherlock was following it on the news. He was waiting for them to contact him; he was waiting to be asked for help. She scowled. She wanted this vacation. She wanted a break from it all. Case after contract after job to another contract and back to cases - she couldn't take it anymore right now. She had to figure it out before Sherlock showed up and ruined it all. But if it was a serial killer, what was it that linked them all? She spotted the missing fingers on the young woman's hands. That was odd. Allessandra shook her head to clear it. She needed the files on the other victims. She needed to find the pattern, make a suspect profile of her own...she needed to get her mind off Sherlock. This was one of the only ways. She went to the nearest officer. "Show me to the detective inspector in charge." Her voice was cold and authoritative. It was a few feet to the back of the room to the short and pudgy detective inspector.

"Can I help you?" His tone was a little snotty. It made Allessandra grin.

"Sure, Detective Inspector. You can start by getting me the files on any related cases and the suspect list you've compiled."

"Just who do you think you are?" The man put his hands on his hips. Allessandra took her badge off her jacket and shoved it in his face in a purposely obnoxious fashion.

"Allessandra Caswell, MI-6. I'm taking over your investigation."

"What? Why?"

"Apparently, there are people not happy with a serial killer on the loose. And there are more people than that unhappy with the fact that you can't catch him or her. You're just lucky I was already in town."

"You can't do that! You can't take over my case!" She narrowed her eyes at the man, the sadistic grin she reserves for special circumstances surfacing.

"I can, and I will." Allessandra walked away, putting her phone to her ear. This case needed to be closed before anyone made a desperate call to Sherlock Holmes. She needed this vacation from work; from life. She wasn't going to let one little serial killer ruin it. "Arthur, I need a few things..."

Near two hours later, Allessandra had a pseudo office set up in a hotel suite. She was waiting for Arthur's arrival. To pass time, she was memorizing every detail in each file. Granted, there were only three files in addition to the one that was made today. Each victim was a young, blonde female. When each body was found, it was naked and fingerless. Autopsies showed that the fingers were in the victims' stomach. Trauma to the esophagus told her and the medical examiners that each girl had been force fed the fingers once disconnected from the owner's hand. Allessandra rubbed her eyes. If she were a normal person, her stomach would have emptied at just the thought of this kind of torture. Alas, she was not normal and these thoughts only just worried her. In fact, she could think of three occasions where she dished out worse tortures. She almost let out a grin and continued with the case on hand. The fingers in the girls' stomachs had started to digest, which means something else had killed them. Toxin samples were being run by the medical examiner now. The fingerprints had also dissolved in the stomach acid, so until the DNA report got back, they were only assuming they ate their own fingers. In frustration, she slid off her chair and onto the floor, organizing papers around her. She snatched her shoes from her feet, throwing them behind her and got a bit of satisfaction at the sound of them hitting furniture. Hard. She used a pen to pin her hair in a bun on the back of her head. Her jacket followed her shoes a second later. Allessandra was willing to bet that it landed on a lamp. She shrugged off the shoulder holster but left the gun within reach. She began studying the reports again. An unknown amount of time passed when a knock on her door made her grab her gun. Cocking it was an unconscious action. The knock sounded again. She got up from the floor, preparing for anything.

"Room service!" She ground her teeth at the lie. She didn't order room service.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Hey, you! Yeah, you there! Do you know where you are? You've stumbled onto chapter thirteen of _For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires_! Just in case you didn't know. Chances are, though, that you do know and you've been eagerly awaiting this update. Which, amazingly, is on time. I told you the dam broke. I might have even started fourteen if my best friend wasn't a freak and didn't drag me out to three and a half hours of tennis today. Also, give me leniency within the next week; work has piled on the hours because the schools in this area are out for Spring Break. So, I'll try again for next Friday, I'm praying for next Friday, but I don't know how it'll all pan out right now. Thank you to mariposademuerte, The Yoshinator, Gwilwillith, and TheGirlWhoImagined for their updates! It made me very, very happy to hear from you guys. I hope to hear from more of you! Read, review and enjoy...

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Wide chocolate brown eyes stared down the barrel of Allessandra's gun as she opened the door. She didn't move.

"Are you going to put the gun down, Allessandra?" David's silky voice was calming to her on edge nerves. She still didn't move from her position. "Are you okay? Are you hallucinating?"

"How did you know where I was staying?"

"You told me yesterday, after your session, remember? We agreed that we'd have another here, at the hotel. Are you having blackouts now? Allessandra, you need to tell me if your symptoms are progressing!"

"Why did you say you were room service?" He cracked a grin.

"I can't exactly announce I'm your therapist in a hall of Yard officer you're in charge of. It's not exactly good to look like a gentleman caller, either." She flipped the safety back on the gun and slipped it in the back of her pants all while cracking a grin.

"Gentleman caller? Well, I suppose I can't having them think I sleep with a horde of men."

"Horde?" He nearly cocked his head as he asked his question.

"If I don't get this case solved then Sherlock is going to come solve it and Mycroft is going to check up on me and apologize eventually. I'd rather them not come here and ruin my vacation. And no blackouts, by the way. There's just been a lot going on in my head and I forgot." He nodded and looked at the papers on the floor. He made a motion with his hand, asking permission to look. Allessandra gave him permission with a Vanna White like movement. He sat down where she had been sitting and started with the first file.

"Murderer?"

"Serial killer. Four victims in all." She sat down next to him on the floor. He picked up a few papers in each hand and looked through them, the wheels in his head turning. He grabbed a pad of paper she had been making notes on and flipped to a new page. He started drawing a writing, diagraming things out from what Allessandra could see. He picked through the papers more, continuing with his writing. He finally put the pen down.

"How's the PTSD?" She shrugged, much more interested in getting her hands on what he just wrote down. "Any memories when you slept last night? Nightmares?"

"I don't dream when I drink before bed. Well," she thought about it for a second, "that's a lie. I had a dream about Sherlock but that doesn't have anything to do with the PTSD." She smirked a reached for the pad of paper. He held it out of reach.

"You know, medically, self-medication is a setback." David told her, his tone clearly scolding, his eyes hard with an emotion she couldn't identify.

"Don't give a fuck. I wanted it, so I had it."

"Allessandra-" She managed to get a hand on the paper.

"Look - I'm not dependent on it. I agreed to another 'think happy thoughts' session because you, the professional, believe it will and is helping. I'm willing to trust you and give it a shot. Now, I allowed you to assist on an active investigation and you're withholding information by not giving me this pad of paper you so clearly figured something out on. So either share it verbally or give me the fucking paper." He smirked and kept a hold of the paper still. His eyes ran over her body, heat stirring through her. It wasn't as intense as the heat that burned her with Sherlock - but it was enough to make her shift under David's gaze.

"I laid out a suspect profile for you. General, but better than nothing." She sat back on her heels and put her fingers together under her chin.

"Lay it on me." David glanced at his notes.

"First of all, statistically-"

"Our serial killer is a male. I know. It's solidified by all the female victims. Don't be obvious." He cleared his throat.

"Right. All his victims have been found lacking large amounts of blood, probably due to lack of care once he removes the fingers from their hands. Death isn't due to ingestion if the appendages; it's probably going to be some kind of poison. Toxicology reports will tell you for sure. So, this person is a male and if we're going by statistics, he'll be in his mid-thirties to early forties. His life will be completely normal and he'll have a lot of confidence. He has to, to be able to transport the bodies. Here's the kicker - all the female victims are blonde haired with blue eyes, around five foot five inches with an average to athletic build." David's eye bore into Allessandra's ocean blues. "He's hunting you." She shook her head.

"Not possible. The killings started before I got here."

"But you heard of them on the news. Subconsciously, when you needed to get away, you came here. Maybe the killer knew you would come to solve the case. You can't deny that each of these women have a resemblance to you." She snatched up the pictures of each girl on the morgue's table. She didn't see it before, but she did now. "Do you have any enemies?" Allessandra scoffed.

"Are you serious?" She looked at him, her gaze hard now that she was irritated with this new information. "You know exactly what I do for a living. I have prices on my head in eight different countries and I can't travel to Australia or else I get shot on the spot. It could be anyone."

"What about ex-boyfriends; ex-lovers?"

"Don't even get me started." She rubbed her eyes and put the pictures down. "Let's get this," she waved her hand around in the air, "desensitizing thing over with. I have to meet with the officers at the Yard and give a statement to the press. I'd like to get a nap in if I could." David gave her a soft smile.

"Just remember to stay safe, Allessandra."

"Always."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** You come across the current new chapter of _For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires_ - congratulations! Sorry for the lateness. I did a 45 hour stint in four days. I get today (Happy Easter, by the way) off and I'm back in hell first thing in the morning. I also took an inch long chunk out of my fingers that borderline needs stitches. I'll warn you now that this is a short chapter. It's needed, though. And if things go according to plan, the next few chapters will be long and exciting. Yay! Thank you to The Yoshinator, Why Fireflies Flash, Gwilwillith and Lift the Wings. Thank you guys so much for sticking with me. And thank you to stanleydoodles for helping me out when I need it! Everyone, read and review and enjoy! I hope to hear from a few new people this week, along with my regulars! I love hearing from all of you!

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Sherlock sat in his chair, irritated with the world. There were no cases for him to solve and the ones that did spark his interest grew boring quickly. She only left two days ago and he couldn't get his mind off her; Allessandra. She was becoming what his mind could only describe as an epidemic to his body. His thoughts always ended back on her. Her scent lingered in his bed from when she snuck in it. He was even dreaming because of her; dreams he thought were gone once he was an adult. Two days. It's only been two days and she managed to be on Sherlock's mind constantly. He pinched the bridge of his nose as if that would help.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" John's voice made him realize he was physically starting to show his frustration.

"Fine, John. I'm fine." John got that look on his face that said he didn't believe a word that left Sherlock's mouth.

"No you're not. You've barely been sleeping! Well, less than normal." John shook his head. "Look, I'm just concerned, Sherlock."

"Don't worry about me." He turned the television on, flipping to the news. He nearly threw a fit. Allessandra was on the screen, in the middle of a press conference. The scroll on the bottom explained the fifth victim of a serial killer was found in the Cambridge area. She stood in front of a podium, in front of a crowd of press and reporters. In the distance were the buildings that made up Cambridge University. Sherlock's eyes took in the details quickly and settled back on Allessandra. She was dressed in a gray three-piece suit, a light blue shirt breaking up the monotone color and bringing out her eyes. The long blonde hair Sherlock wanted draped around him fell on her shoulders in soft waves.

"All victims are women between the ages 30 and 35." Her voice gave him chills, even over the telly. "They have blonde hair, blue eyes and are of an average or athletic build. All of the women have last been seen at Cambridge University and have a tendency to dabble in drug use occasionally. That is how our killer attracts his targets. He offers the woman in question either help or more drugs, depending on the situation. We believe the killer to live on campus or close to the grounds. Because of this, we are also led to believe that the killer is a student of the University, possibly in his mid to late thirties. Scotland Yard and Cambridge University Campus Police are asking that all students, not only women, to exercise extreme caution. First and foremost, do not go out after dark if you can prevent it. If you have to go out after dark, use the buddy system. You'd be surprised how many lives get saved by simply having another person with you." Allessandra cracked a bit of a smile and heat shot through him. "The Yard and Campus Police have agreed to work together to walk students to their car after night classes have finished. Also, it'd be in the best interest of all the students of Cambridge to avoid illicit activities until this madman is caught. We have a hotline set up if anyone has any hints that will lead to an arrest, and an emergency help line if you believe you're in danger or are caught out after dark with no buddy or escort. Do not hesitate on either account. We are here to help you all stay safe. With the combined help of Scotland Yard and Campus Police, we will bring this man in. Thank you." She stepped down, ignoring the flashes of the cameras and the questions of the press.

"Was that Allessandra?"

"We just heard from Special Agent Allessandra Caswell, assigned to the 'Finger Lickin'' serial killer case. The killer at large was dubbed such just a few days ago when the police leaked details of the case to the press. This man in question is known to cut the fingers off his victims and force them to eat them. Just as Special Agent Caswell said…" The news reporter answered John's question.

"Pack a bag, John. We're going to Cambridge."

"What?!"

Allessandra was willing to say that she was thoroughly drunk. The bottle of whiskey she got was nearly gone, and it made her happy. Life made her happy at the moment. She could easily count the ways. The officers she was working with at the Yard weren't idiots. The case was progressing well. Granted, another innocent woman killed wasn't good, but there were developments. Her sessions with David moved from every day to every other day. She saw him Wednesday when she picked up the serial killer case, then today, Friday, when she finally had time in her hectic schedule. On top of it, David said the treatment they were doing was working based on his notes. Sherlock had been out of her mind for nearly two and a half days. Two press conferences went over so smoothly, it had surprised her. Yeah, happiness.

He watched her from afar. Allessandra, dear sweet Allessandra, didn't know he could see her from here. He was looking through a pair of binoculars. It would be so much better to look at her in person. He wished he could look at her face-to-face. What he would give to look on those blue eyes in person. Soon. So soon. He wasn't waiting any longer. Allessandra Caswell would be his and no one else's. He took his eyes away from the binoculars and watched his surroundings. No one noticed him. The windows to his car had a limo-dark tint on them and he was parked in a discreet spot. No one would find him here. He could watch her all he wanted to, just as he had been since she arrived in Cambridge. Tomorrow night. It'll all be over by tomorrow night.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Good afternoon and welcome to chapter fifteen of _For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires_! I know, I'm late again. I do hope you all forgive me. I'm trying to get back on schedule but they keep fucking with my hours at work. Ergo, I don't have as much time to write. Thankfully, and unthankfully at the same time, its out of season for us again and hours are being cut. Means that I'll possibly get the updates out on time because I'll have time to write them. Between Doctor Who and Game of Thrones, that is. Maybe I'll be able to get ahead again. Anyways - thank you to The Yoshinator, Why Fireflies Flash, and Gwilwillith for fantastic reviews! Hearing from you guys makes my day. In fact, its letting you guys down that pushes me to write after work at one in the morning when I have to get up again at eight. And I'd love to hear from even more of you all. Let me know what you think, what you predict, what you wish to see - all of that fun stuff. Enjoy and review for me, loves!

_P.S._ - I'm looking for someone who is kind enough to draw me a brilliant picture/thing of Sherlock and Allessandra, and possibly Mycroft. I can't seem to do it myself in Photoshop with Benedict, Mark and whichever pretty blonde woman I find. Ginta Lapina is the model I've kind of been basing Allessandra off of, but she's a few years younger than our favorite female character. I've also used other blonde women as inspiration, but I really like the look of Ginta. I know, 'only fifteen chapters in and you want fanart?!'. What can I say? I'm needy. Anyways, if anyone wants to help, its much appreciated!

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Pounding. Lots of pounding. A sharp stab went through her brain at every dreadful thump. Was that her head pounding? No. No, that was the door. Allessandra barely opened her eyes before she closed them again. That hurt. But she needed to stop the pounding. It was making everything so much worse. She managed open her eyes, without dying instantaneously, and push herself up from the bed. Dear, sweet baby Jesus. She groaned as nausea passed through her. Why did she drink so much? Why did she never remember how bad the hangovers were? And who the fuck was pounding on her door? She wrapped the blanket around her body like a toga, because some how she lost her clothes in the middle of the night, and managed to stand. The room spun a little, making the nausea a bit worse. She endured. Anything to get the pounding on her door to stop. Allessandra halfway staggered to the door and swung it open, a grimace on her face. The neutral face of the youngest Holmes and his flat mate greeted her.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" She croaked out, sarcasm thick enough for Sherlock to detect. Sherlock scoffed.

"You have a deranged psychopath out for your head and you answer the door without clothes, let alone a weapon to defend yourself with." Allessandra blinked at Sherlock slowly. He pushed her aside, letting himself and John into the hotel room. John blinked at the woman in front of them. Allessandra, the woman who was the epitome of perfection, looked like hell. Wearing just a sheet, her hair was a wreak and she had bags under her eyes like he'd only seen in his days at Uni. "She's hungover, John. Order the greasiest thing from room service and a pitcher of water." She wanted to kiss Sherlock - more than normal. He always knew just what she needed when she was hungover. She watched as Sherlock went into the bathroom, grabbed the ibuprofen and returned. He grabbed her free hand and dropped four into it. Meanwhile, the good doctor ventured out of Allessandra's sight and into the adjoining kitchenette to use the phone, apparently following Sherlock's orders. He suddenly appeared in her line of vision just a few moments later.

"They'll be up in fifteen minutes with chips and a sandwich." His voice was respectively soft. She nodded, not quite able to fully process everything that was happening.

"Sit down, Allessandra. You're getting pale." Sherlock's voice was bored. She did as she was told, sitting down on the bed.

"What - what are you doing here?" She looked from John to Sherlock.

"You have a serial killer on your hands and you're clearly unable to solve the case. I'm here to offer my assistance." Allessandra blinked at him.

"Last time I saw you, you and your brother decided to use me to make fun of each other and my sex life. What makes you think I want your help?"

"You have five dead women on or near one of the most prestigious university campuses in the world. All the victims closely resemble you, a tell-tale sign that the killer is after you. Killers escalate the longer they get away with killings, which means he's probably gained enough confidence to come close to going after is real prize." Sherlock raised his eye rows and tilted his head towards her. "Given the fact these killings are so detailed, their considered personal, and would lead us to believe that the killer is an ex-boyfriend or a spurned lover. Any ideas?"

"I haven't heard from Mycroft in a while."

"What? Ex-boyfriend? Spurned lover - Mycroft?! And you?!" Allessandra shot a dirty look to John at his comment and the level of his voice. "Sorry. But, you had a - a relationship with Mycroft? As in, like, a boyfriend? And sex? Real sex?"

"Is there such thing as fake sex?" She nearly sneered back. "Yes, once upon a time, I dated Mycroft. Yes, there was a physical side to our relationship. Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"I - well, I didn't mean-" She watched John turn red and stutter. She waved her hand at him and dropped her head in the same hand.

"Its fine, Dr. Watson. Just another piece of my past out in the open."

"My brother wouldn't waste his time." Her eyes narrowed on the younger Holmes.

"On me or on killing people for revenge on me?" Sherlock opened his mouth to answer but a knock on the door cut him off. She was willing to bet it was for the best. John thought so too. "Could you get that, Dr. Watson? I find myself in need of a pair of clothes. I hope you both don't mind if I hang around in my pajamas. Besides, Mycroft isn't a 'spurned lover'. It was a mutual parting of ways." She didn't wait for an answer or an additional comment or to see if John answered the door. Laying the ibuprofen on the table beside the bed, Allessandra snagged an old baggy shirt, a pair of boxers she stole from a one-night stand, underwear and a sports bra. It took her only a minute or two to get dressed in the bathroom and return to her spot on the bed. The tray of food was placed on a small wooden folding table beside the bed, making it easy for her to eat from her spot. She took the pills she had been handed earlier and snagged one of the greasiest fries she'd ever seen in her life.

"What did the toxicology reports say?" Allessandra glared at Sherlock, eating more fries. "And your suspects? I do hope you're not sticking strictly to Cambridge students. People are in and out of that campus every day." She continued to ignore him.

Sherlock watched her eat. It was no different than when she'd wake up hungover, stumbling out of Mycroft's room and down the hall to empty her stomach in privacy. Whether she knew it or not, her hair was a wreck and she had dark bags under her eyes. But, there was more to it. She wasn't just hungover. There was a...a haunted shadow in her eyes; a slight tremor, barely noticeable, in her hand. Allessandra was a trained killer, an assassin of sorts. Her hand was steady in every situation. Why now? Why - oh.

"You're PTSD is showing more symptoms, isn't it?" His voice broke the silence that had settled like a rock through a glass window. "And you don't think the therapy is working anymore, so you're self-medicating, just like your father did." Her head shot up, a fire burning in her eyes like he hadn't seen in many years.

"Get out." Allessandra's voice was stone. "Get out and don't even think about coming back." When he didn't move she tossed the knife on her plate at him. Sherlock felt the air next to his cheek move as the blade just missed him. She wasn't playing. He bowed his head for a moment and got up.

"Come on, John." Sherlock turned as he reached the door. "You know how to get ahold of me." She tossed the fork in her hand this time.

"FUCK OFF!"


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** Good Morning, 'Lockians! Welcome to chapter sixten of _For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires_! I know, I know, not Friday. Again. But its Saturday - Saturday MORNING! I'm getting back on track. Slowly but surely. I ask you all to just have faith and bare with me. It'll be easier now that they cut a day and some hours at work. I took a girl's night in with my best friend and her mother last night...lets just say the DIY beauty store down the road made a good amount of money and I now have purple hair. And no sleep. Also, yesterday, I hung six sheets of sheetrock on a ceiling and ripped up a carpet. I'm hanging three more today and then going to work and dealing with little kids and shit. Urgh. I'm tired to say the least. And I don't wanna work. Anyways, I had a whole bunch of stuff I wanted to say here, but I can't really remember it all. I know I wanted to tell you all that starting with this chapter, I'm going to try and reply to everyone's reviews. So I'll start that now...ashINwonderland - I glad you enjoy it! I'd love to make the chapters longer, but if I did that, I'd end up writing the entire story in one chapter. They kinda just end however my brain stops working at the moment. I do make an effort to, the the minimum, have a word count of 1,100. I don't know if that count for anything. The Yoshinator - The 'no tact' aspect is one of my favorites of writing Sherlock. He just kinda thinks it and says it, no filter. Gwilwillith - So happy you like the story! And thank you for being a reviewer from the beginning! Brichisa - I love it when I find fics like that. It's what inspires me to write. Thank you so much. Like, you made my day when I got your review. I've never had someone say such kind words about my writing. So, truly, thank you. My finger is better; it hasn't fallen off, thank god. Its still a deep cut and hurts when I hit it against something. Overall, good, though. Working, writing and resting all at once! Its just taking some time for my brain to kick in to write.

So, needless to say, thank you to all my readers, and extra special thank you to my reviewers and I hope to hear from more of you! Enjoy and review...

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Just like her father. Just. Like. Her. Father. She was nothing like her father! How dare he?! She wasn't self-medicating. She wasn't reliant on alcohol. Sure, Allessandra had a few drinks now and then. Rarely did she ever drink to excess. That wasn't self-medicating, it was stress relief. Right? She grabbed the plate in front of her and threw it all the wall. The shattering sound was so satisfying. She pushed the food tray over. The remote to the television shattered the television screen. Lamps broke on the floor. Her cell phone ringing stopped her from throwing it out the window. The fog that took over her mind was clearing, her rational mind returning.

_Dinner at 8? My house? -Mycroft Holmes_

Allessandra's lips twitched into a smile. It was Mycroft's way of apologizing. He asked about their weekly dinner instead of reminding her of it. It was a tradition they upheld no matter the circumstances. She thought about it. If Arthur got the jet ready, she could be there by dinner and back before the night ended. Dinner was always good when it was at Mycroft's place. His chef made far better food than she did.

_I'll be there -A. Caswell_

She had to make a stop first. She had to visit David. The fit she just had was definitely a setback. Shower and more water were on the list before that. And room service to clean this up. Maybe it'd be easier to just move to another room? Another hotel. Sherlock was most likely staying down the hall. Fucking insensitive, sociopathic bastard. And to think she had feelings for him. Allessandra scoffed, stripping down to nothing again. The shower she took was hot and long and just what she needed. She could feel the subtle tremor running through her, like her body just couldn't cope anymore. Dressing in her suit was a mechanical action. She didn't bother with a three piece today, settling on dark grey pants and a matching blazer. The shirt was a deep ocean blue, nearly matching her eyes identically. Make-up was applied to cover up the last evidence of her hangover and her hair was slicked back in a classy-professional-dangerous style that she hadn't worn in quite a while. She grinned as she looked at herself in the mirror. She looked brilliant and dangerous and sexy - exactly what she was going for. A nice match for her mood. She slipped her feet in her favorite six inch black heels and stepped out the door.

John Watson watched his best friend from a seat in the corner of their shared hotel room. He was acting strange lately. Stranger than normal, that is. He had an idea of why, too. Sherlock thought John was an idiot and he didn't observe things. But he did. A week ago, Sherlock was as normal as Sherlock could get. He'd sleep when he didn't have a case and he started regularly eating meals. Experiments were scattered across 221B, specifically the kitchen. He would sit still for hours at a time, not talking. Now, the experiments were abandoned. Meals and sleep didn't exist in Sherlock's schedule. He was always moving. When they got back to their room, just two down from Allessandra, Sherlock had sat down in a chair with his leg bouncing like crazy. When the door to said woman's room opened and shut, the sound of heels clicking down the hallway, Sherlock shot up from his seat and started pacing the room. John could tell he wanted to follow her, know where she was going and what she was doing. John smiled to himself. Allessandra Caswell was what changed everything in Sherlock. The man was completely infatuated with her. Maybe in love. Definitely in denial. It probably got under his skin that she wouldn't accept his help, either; wouldn't even give him a hint any leads she had.

"Mycroft," Sherlock's voice on his phone broke John from his reverie, "I need all the information you have on the case Allessandra is working on right now. What? No - she just," Sherlock sighed, "she's being uncooperative and she's in danger. Thank you." He hung up and sighed.

"Mycroft?" John asked the question he knew would get him an annoyed look.

"Yes, but if you had been paying attention you would already know that. He's sending over the information Allessandra wouldn't give me." John nodded as Sherlock pulled his computer into his lap.

He paced around his living room, going over his mental checklist. The only thing he was missing was a reason to see her. He had to figure it out. There was no more waiting to be done, no more patience for his prize. The basement was ready for her. She would take him as her significant other; her husband. The ring he held in is hand was beautiful. The band was gold with a diamond on it, surrounded by sapphires the color of her eyes. And then they'd be together forever. He pocketed the ring and sat on the couch, looking over the pictures he had taken if her over the past few days. She was gorgeous. And all his. He grinned. A knock on the door broke his good mood. He piled the pictures together and shoved them in a drawer of the coffee table as he got up. It wasn't the police, that much he knew. He didn't leave a thing that would point to him. Who could it be? The knocking started again, more urgent. He put his hand on the gun in the waistband of his pants and looked through the peep hole in the door. Oh. Oh my. It was her. She was here. Problem solved. He flipped the few locks on the door, opening it up, putting on his best confused face. He nearly couldn't hide the glee he felt.

"Allessandra?"

"Oh thank God. I was worried I didn't get the right house for a minute." She smiled that smile at him. He smiled back easily.

"Nope, you got the right one. Is everything alright?" She shook her head at him, the smile dropping.

"No. No, it's not. It's all wrong. I need your help. May I come in, David?" His smile turned into a wide grin.

"Of course."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** Hey, look, its chapter seventeen of_ For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires_! And its (technically) Friday! A miracle. Although this is admittedly, its short...er. I've been working on my house so I'm tired. The next few chapters should make up for it, though. Its getting interesting. Gwilwillith - Thank you! Glad you enjoyed it. The Yoshinator - Oh, you'll see. I promise. Brichisa - Hahaha. I'd hoped no one would guess. You'll see how it all plays out. Just read and find out! No spoilers! Stanleydoodles - Your advice, while it helps me, may kill the readers. Thank you though. I enjoy your input and the random conversations we have.

So, did no one else like the last chapter? -insert sad, pouty face here- It made me upset that I got so few reviews. I really am trying my best with this story and I don't know if y'all are enjoying it unless you tell me. Let me know! Please! Review!

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Alessandra sat on the couch in David's immaculate living room. It was very masculine, colored with earthy and masculine tones. Chairs and bookcases were scattered about, a large flatscreen television dominating the room. Books on shelves were an assortment of titles from psychology books to Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. It almost made her smile. This man was very complex for a psychologist.

"Here we are, a nice cuppa." David handed her a cup of fresh, hot tea. "You can begin whenever you're ready." He sat back in his chair, legs crossed and tea in hand. He was relaxed, resembling that cat who got the canary. She ignored the off feeling she had and sipped at her drink in hand. It was perfect. He must have paid attention while she made her tea during the sessions in his office. She nibbled on her bottom lip before she spoke.

"Sherlock and John came to my hotel room this morning."

"Just like you predicted they would." He nodded. She shrugged.

"Sherlock is predicable. He wouldn't let me stay in danger if he could help it."

"Very noble of Sherlock. But I thought he was a sociopath? They don't normally care for someone at all, let alone enough to try and save them."

"He's a high-functioning sociopath. Sherlock and I go way back, you know that. I suppose its just instinct to watch out for each other now. Anyways, we were talking and it turned into a fight. He said I was just like my father, self-medicating with alcohol." She ground her teeth together as she spoke, making her words come out harsh.

"And are you?" Allessandra looked at David.

"I don't know anymore. Before he said it I could convince myself that it was just a drink after a long day of work. There's nothing wrong with that. But now, I can't be sure what it was." She gave a rueful smile. "They do say that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." She took a gulp of her tea, looking at her lap. The burning of the hot liquid on her throat helped keep her centered.

"First off, self-medicating and alcoholism, while close in principle, are two very different things. Normally, one follows the other. With your father, from what you've told me, it went from self- medicating to alcoholism. I think, yes, on a small level you may be self-medicating because you don't know how else to deal with things. It's what you saw all your life. But you are not your father. You are not an alcoholic. You've recognized everything you need to to prevent yourself from following in his footsteps. And the best part is you're seeking help with it." He smiled at her, reaching across the gap between them and putting a hand on her knee. "I'm here for you, Allessandra, and we'll get through this together." She looked up at David and the room tilted. She closed her eyes and opened them again, attempting to get her retinas to focus properly. What was happening? Did she eat today; she got dizzy when she went too long without eating. Did she? It was getting hard to think. That didn't normally happen. Did it? "Allessandra?" David. That was David's voice. Could he help? She opened her obscenely dry mouth to ask, but couldn't. Her body wasn't responding to her brain. She blinked as everything spun again. "Stop fighting it, love." Black rippled at the edge of her vision, a fog disrupting her thoughts even more than before. No. More black, less vision. "That's my girl." No! Darkness.

The drug took longer than he wanted it to. David was so used to just knocking his victims out, he almost did the same to his beloved Allessandra. But he couldn't, not to her. She deserved so much better. So he waited and he talked. He watched as her muscles relaxed without her realizing. He watched it cloud her mind and blur her vision. He caught her as she finally slipped into unconsciousness. He ran a hand through her hair, disrupting the hairspray that held it all together. That wouldn't do. David pursed his lips. The dose he gave her should keep her knocked out through a shower.

Allessandra knew the fog of her mind and the ache of her body was her immune system shaking off the drug. She bit her tongue to keep a groan in as she tried to shift her body a bit. Two things sprung her into a state of semi-clarity. She was chained to something and she was in different clothes. Three things, actually. She'd been showered as well. Anger started to burn in her gut while sickness was rolled in her stomach. More and more things were piecing together. David was the serial killer. He couldn't be! It's not possible. He was a psychologist; he was meant to help people - not kill them. But, according to her situation, he was the one who was really after her. The profile he gave her pointed right to him but she was too fucking blind to see it. How could she not have seen it? How did he get away with it? Why was he doing it? Allessandra struggled for a minute to remember what he said. A spurned lover or ex-boyfriend. But he was neither - oh. Oh my. He went crazy because she refused to date him. Spurned want-to-be lover. That's very interesting. She pulled on the chains around her wrists. She had a bit of room to move, though they were snug on her wrists. She looked around. Bedroom...ish. Upon close inspection, she could tell this was once a basement. The cold, damp feeling should have given it away but a fake fireplace in the corner kept out the chill. Red wallpaper was on the brick walls, the cement of the floor cover with white carpet. She scoffed. For a psychopathic serial killer psychologist, he really didn't know how to decorate. None of the furniture in the room matched. The bed frame she was chained to was dark wood while one side table was painted white and the other stained to an oak color. The chair in the corner had a body in it - oh fuck. She squinted. Was that a girl or was it David? She couldn't tell. It moved. It was David. Fuck, fuck, fuck!


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** Hello, good people, and welcome to chapter eighteen of _For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires_! This note is going to be short. I've worked a whopping twenty-seven hours in three days and yesterday I had to put a bitch in her place at work. I'm very tired, so please excuse. Though, this is a long chapter if that makes up for it at all. The Yoshinator - You'll see! Lol. You actually gave me the inspiration for - well, like I said, you'll see. Gwilwillith - Thank you!. Stanleydoodles - Yes, you are. Horrible influence. If people only knew...

Read, enjoy and review...

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_She was sitting in the all too comfortable chair in her psychologist's office, laughing harder than she had in a long time. Being ordered here was probably the best assignment she'd had so far. Granted, she just started, but she hadn't laughed like this in so long; it felt so good. Mycroft and their superior's orders were to be examined, but this was so much more fun. She had to be cleared for active duty before she could start in the British government. It was a series of meetings that included interviews and tests of all kinds. Today's session was the last. Doctor David Mackenzie, the best Britain had, was the one conducting it all. In the first test, he had immediately seen her PTSD and treated it every time she visited for another test. Afterwards, they'd talk and joke around. It was clear they had an attraction to each other, but Allessandra knew they couldn't be anything more than good friends. He was her psychologist, for Christ's sake. But, she wasn't so sure that David felt the same way towards her. She would put money on him falling for her, if she had someone to bet with that is. She laughed at another joke. A real laugh. Thankfully, like she pointed out to herself before, this was the last session. She was about to be cleared. She was so very excited to be accepted for this position. She would be legally be doing what she'd illegally been doing for the past three years; taking out hits. Now, though, it'd be for the British government and not special hires. Her phone went off in her pocket. She glanced at the screen and stood. _

_"I'm sorry to leave so abruptly, David, but there's been an emergency at the office." She gave him a sorrow filled smile. He stood up as she did. _

_"Not a problem. I understand." He handed her his card. "Keep in touch. Maybe we can go out for dinner sometime." Allessandra took the card and played with it for a minute in her hands. With a small frown she slipped the card back into the pocket of his coat. _

_"We can't be anything more than doctor-patient, David. I'm sorry."_

_"Allessandra-"_

_"David, you're a nice, amazing, funny guy. Any woman would be lucky to get you. But I can't be that woman. You have to stay my psychologist, nothing more." She watched the stubborn fire burn in his eyes. "Can I have my clearance file now? I really do have to get back to the office." He gave her a sharp nod. She watched him go to the file on his desk, sign a few papers and shut it all together. He handed the file to her. Allessandra took the file and give her psychologist a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you around, Dr. Mackenzie." She shut his office door behind her softly, her mind already on the problem Mycroft had texted her about. _

She should have known then! She was so fucking stupid. He had that stubborn look in his eyes as she left and she should have recognized it! Allessandra kept cussing herself out on her ignorance as she pulled on her restraints. She ignored the figure of her former psychologist stalking towards her. Dozens of scenarios ran through her mind as she tried to figure out how to get free or to defend herself. Her body stilled and tensed as David put his hand under her chin. He moved her head up, making her look into his eyes. They were black. Gone was the warm chocolate brown color that showed friendliness.

"How're you feeling?" His voice was even different. Deeper, darker somehow. More dangerous.

"Groggy. I have a headache. What did you drug me with?" She knew better than to pull away. That'd only provoke him. He moved her head from side to side, no doubt doing a quick stimulus check on her retinas.

"It was a healthy mix of codeine, tremadol and Benadryl with the sugar in your tea. Enough to knock you out, not enough for you to taste or die." His eyes didn't focus for a minute. "No, not die. Never die. Never going to hurt you." He shook his head. Allessandra's mind reeled. Erotomania with hints of delusional jealousy. Her mind still wasn't functioning to one-hundred-percent capacity. She knew the terms but she couldn't come up with definitions. "You're all mine, Allessandra. Forever." He kissed her forehead. And that's when the information came forefront. The belief of one person that another is in love with them - that's erotomania. But that's not what David has, is it? The delusional jealousy - believing someone is lying or cheating on them. No; yes? Why wasn't it all clicking? All those drugs had been in her system many times for various reasons. She should have worked them all out of her body by now.

"Can I have some water? And maybe some ibuprofen? My head hurts terribly, David." Damsel-in-distress; let's see if that works. He obviously didn't want to hurt her. She watched as he fought with himself for a second. Good. The old David was in there somewhere. He nodded and moved across the room, picking a pill bottle up and a glass. He disappeared from sight and she heard a tap running. She scowled to herself. She hated tap water. There were worse things she could be drinking, though, so she put the thought of where the water came from to the back of her mind. The pill bottle was put back on the little table it came from. David made his way over to Allessandra.

"Open up." She did as she was told. He dropped the pills in her mouth and put the glass to her lips, letting her drink. "I have to go out for a bit. You should go back to sleep, you're going to be here for a while." He ran his hand through her hair and caressed her cheek. Her kissed her forehead one last time and turned to leave. She held her tongue until he got to the staircase. Then she couldn't help it anymore.

"No, I won't." Her voice was strong.

"Excuse me?" David turned back around to face her, those black eyes blazing.

"I won't be here long. People will realize I'm missing. The government will realize I'm missing." He started stalking to her. This time, she didn't care. "Mycroft will figure out where I am. Sherlock will figure out where I am." He reached her and used her hair to pull her head back roughly. She was looking him in the eyes once again. "The royal army will break down your doors and tear you limb from limb to save me." She seethed out her sentence.

"No, they won't. You stay here, with me, forever. You. Are. Mine!" He yanked on her hair again.

"No, I'm not. I am no one's." She defiantly told him. What was that about not provoking him? She couldn't remember. She was on a level of pissed she'd never seen before. "I am my own person, David, not yours to control." He slapped her across the face and moved to pace the room.

"I didn't want to do this to you, Allessandra, I really didn't. I don't want to cause you harm, but you give me no choice, love." He paced for another minute. She watched him stop and rummage in a cabinet in the corner. "I made this, just in case. I didn't want to have to use it, but just in case. I don't want to hurt you. That wasn't part of the plan. We were – we are going to live together, happily, forever. We just have to get over this bump in the road." She couldn't get a good look at it, but from what she could see, it looked like a power drill. Was he going to carve her? She scowled. One of her targets tried to carve her like a turkey on thanksgiving dinner once. She had the scars up her ribcage to prove it. It wasn't a pleasant experience. He plugged it on, the sound of him flipping it on as he turned made goose bumps run over her arms. But when she realized what it was, that's when a brief stab of fear hit her. It was an electric brander. He was going to brand her! Like livestock!

"You're a bastard." Allessandra started struggling in her chair more. If she could just get out of the chair, she could get away. "I don't know how I ever trusted you. You're psychotic." He sneered at her. "Why would I want to be with you?" She pushed her chair back as he stepped forward, the iron already red hot in his hand. David dropped to his knees beside her and lifted part of the shirt she was wearing. The first touch of the metal brought forth an ear shattering scream from her, tears springing from her eyes. It hurt so bad. Worse than be stabbed, breaking bones and being shot all at once. The heat was unbearable. The smell of burnt flesh made her want to puke. He took the brand away and flipped her over, pulling down the sweatpants she was dressed in.

"Why?" She cried; she screamed. She'd never admit it after this situation just how much she was hurting. "Why are you doing this to me, you crazy fuck?!" His hand met her head, petting her while he softly shushed her.

"This way, you'll always remember who you belong to. You are mine. You've been mine since the day you walked into my office. It's meant to be. You and I, Allessandra, no one else. You showed all the signs in our sessions. You laughed at all my jokes; you flirted back with me!" He stopped and shook his head, almost as if collecting his thoughts. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Allessandra."

"No, no, no, no, no!" She started chanting uncontrollably as he moved at her again. The second brand, applied to her thigh, took another scream from her lungs. Black dotted her vision. She was only aware of the iron on her. He lifted it again. Was he done? God, please say he's done. No. David ignored the tears all over her face. "You brought this on yourself. Its – it's the only way. The only way to keep you here, with me, forever." He sat the chair upright and lifted the shirt again. The third brand, she prayed it was the last, was on her back and brought blessed unconsciousness. One of her final thoughts were how ironic it was that David kept chanting 'I'm so sorry' the entire time he was branding her.

Arthur stood on the airstrip next to the plane, waiting for his boss. Sure, she was a bit of a diva but he couldn't think of working for anyone else. He enjoyed everything he did. He glanced at his watch. She was going on an hour late. She's never normally this late. The hotel had told him that she left earlier in the day and hadn't been back yet. She didn't tell anyone where she was going. All of his call to her mobile went to voicemail - which never happened. He had a feeling in his gut that he didn't like.

This was one of the few times Mycroft didn't like the fact he could get phone calls 30,000 kilometers in the air. It was never good news when Allessandra's assistant called him.

"Mr. Holmes, its Arthur. I think we have an emergency."

"And what would this emergency be, Arthur? Does Allessandra need me to post bail for her again?"

"No, sir. Its worse. She's missing." Mycroft shot up in his seat.

"Missing? What do you mean 'missing'?" He did his best to control his tone of voice but he knew he was failing. Allessandra may be an employee now but she used to be so much more than that. And to some extent, she still was.

"The hotel she is staying at told me she left earlier in the day and hasn't returned yet. All of my calls to her mobile went straight to voicemail." Mycroft's mind started turning. There were so many possibilities.

"I'll keep you informed." Mycroft hung up his phone and immediately dialed Allessandra's mobile. Just as Arthur said, he got her voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message. There was no doubt in his mind that she was alive. No matter her situation, she'd survive. If she had to, he knew she would crack the false tooth in her mouth containing hydrogen cyanide. She'd kill herself if that was the only option. Mycroft rubbed his hands over his face. He wouldn't think like that. She wouldn't do that. It wasn't her nature. He had to find her. He picked up his mobile, putting in phone calls to figure out where his assassin was.

Sherlock had out quite a few things together with this case. He had written out his own suspect profile and while it closely resembled the one Allessandra already had, Sherlock had few difference in his. The man who was the killer wasn't living on campus. This kind of damage couldn't be done to a person in such a community. This person had his own home, a basement, a plan. He was in his forties at least and he knew what he was doing. The killer was a regular to the campus, so not necessarily a student, maybe a professor? Defiantly someone who would know how to act around people, how to hide his inner most thoughts, how to hide he'd committed murder. Sherlock ruffled the curls on top of his head.

"John. John! I need tea. And a fag. Get me one. John!" Sherlock turned around in his seat, seeing the room empty. "JOHN!" Said doctor emerged from an attached room, his face pale.

"Sherlock, there's something I need to tell you."

"Not now, I'm in the middle of a case. Get me tea and a cigarette if you want to be helpful."

"I thought you had the patches - n-no, Sherlock. This is important." John got sidetracked and recovered. It was like working with a child.

"Nothing is important enough to interrupt a case." Sherlock scoffed.

"Sherlock, I just got off the phone with your brother. Allessandra is missing." Sherlock's whole world stopped.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** Chapter Nineteen of _For Queen, Country and Selfish Desires_, anyone? I'm sure you've already observed the obnoxiously large size of your scroll bar indicating this is yet another short chapter. And, yet, its so powerful. And amazing. You'll all hate me. The next one will be long again, I promise. I think I'm going to finish cooking for my little brother's birthday and hook up my second monitor. Then write for you lovelies. The Yoshinator: You made me rofl. I checked my email at work (totally not supposed to) and almost died laughing in the best way. Brichisa: They don't know. Only Allessandra does. Sherlock, John and Mycroft still have to figure it out. You want a horrible death? Wait until you see whats rolling around in my sadistic head. Gwilwillith: Thank you! The clifflie wasn't my idea. I bet you can who's it was. Amaysingx: Be patient. The best things come to those who wait ;). Stanleydoodles: *bows* Thank you, thank you! I love my reviews. I love getting them. I think we should start a review whore's club. When they all realize you're behind ninety-nine percent of my cliffhangers, though, they may revolt. AshINwonderland: Thank you! I didn't mind you saying my chapters are short; I'll admit they are. Unfortunately. My main goal is to keep my readers happy and as long as Im doing that, I'm happy. :) Glad you're hooked.

In other news, I'm trying RPing (yes, I'm a complete nerd/geek/loser) on Twitter with a bit of the Sherlock community. So far, so good. It's amusing. Anyways, read, enjoy and review!

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Sherlock Holmes cared for few things in his life. He'd admit it even fewer times. And he'd never admit that Allessandra Caswell was the thing he cared for the most. Next to his brother and John, that is, but he wouldn't admit that to even himself. To hear that she was missing, well, he just couldn't have that. He was aware of how bad he looked. Dark bags under his eyes, ruffled hair from running his hands through it and a mess of papers around him all pointed to a psychotic episode. He was willing to admit that he was bordering a psychotic episode. She was missing; Allessandra was missing - going on almost twenty-four hours. Mycroft was in the next room, on the phone and Allessandra's assistant was trying to sooth that damn dog. The dog! It had to be part horse, he didn't know how, but no normal dog could be that size. A horse dog that couldn't be left alone and had to be brought to the hotel with the assistant. He scoffed and shook his head, clearing it. Psychotic episode. Horse dogs were genetically impossible. But that thing, he shuddered, was a beast. John, on the other hand, was trying to help the assistant sooth the whining beast. Apparently it could tell its master was in trouble. That was a sentiment Sherlock could share. Right down to his bones he could feel she was in danger. His eyes locked on Mycroft as he entered the room. The looked they shared echoed one thought: 'she will survive'. Sherlock threw a dirty look at the dog.

"Could you make that animal shut up? Give it a tranquilizer or something." He sneered. The exhaustion was getting to him, that and the worry.

"You can't just drug a dog, Sherlock. It's unethical!" John snapped.

"John," Mycroft had to keep control, if only this one time, "you and Arthur take the beast into the bedroom. Give it something that smells like Allessandra, get her to sleep." He paused. "You get some sleep too. We won't find her if we're all exhausted and snapping at each other." Mycroft's eyes lingered on Sherlock for a minute before turning them to the other man. "After that, Arthur, I need you to go down to my car. Anthea is there with some files. Bring them back to me and then you get some rest as well. No one is productive if everyone is exhausted." The room was silent as the orders given were followed. Mycroft stood with the files in his hands before sitting across from Sherlock. "These are the files on Allessandra. They've been accumulated from her time with the American army and her eight years with the British government. I had an investigator, when she started working for me, gather information on what she did in the three years between jobs." Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"That sounds a little like a spurned lover, Mycroft." He pushed the suspect profile towards his brother with a bit of question in his voice. Mycroft resisted the eye roll he wanted to give his little brother. What happened to the boy who wanted to be a pirate? He settled for picking up the paper and skimming it. He set it back down with a sigh.

"Do you know what Alice did in those three years, little brother?" He paused for answer. He didn't get one. "She was a gun for hire. But more importantly, she survived. Right now, she's fitted with a false tooth filled with hydrogen cynanide." Mycroft watched Sherlock tense. "Though, that's not exactly her style." He shrugged out of his coat and laid it over the arm of the chair he was in. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first button of his shirt. Mycroft rubbed his eyes. The suit was the same one he put on the previous morning. Sherlock watched him just as he watched him all those years ago. It was the same process they went through when Mycroft came home from university on breaks. Sherlock would sit in the library, Mycroft across from him and they would talk as Mycroft began to relax at home. It was a way to pass time as they waited for Allessandra to tap on the window. Sherlock almost expected it to happen now. Mycroft settled down in his chair a bit more and continued. "The false tooth was implanted by her request so that if the situation ever arose, she could end her life before she gave away any information. Upon a physical at the same time, we found a tracking chip implanted in her back. It took a little...convincing," Mycroft smirked, "but she eventually told us that the chip was implanted by the Americans before she started one of her tours overseas. The chip is not a tracker in a sense of GPS, but of her vital signs. The chip was turned off when she was discharged but left on her. I'm in the process of convincing the Americans to turn over control of the chip to myself."

"If she has a chip on her, you can trace the signal. You have people that can do that, don't you?" Sherlock knew he sounded almost hopeful.

"You're catching on, dear brother."

So much pain. From everywhere. It was hot and cold at the same time. And the pain, dear god, the pain. There wasn't a spot that wasn't radiating a stabbing pain or a burning pain or an excruciating pain in general. Where did that wet feeling on the side of her head come from? Why weren't things connecting? Why? That was the popular question; the irritating question, the one with no answer. But there was always an answer, to every question. Crack the tooth. End it all.


End file.
